


To Be Angelic

by InkOfEmrys



Category: Supernatural
Genre: And they may or may not be worth a smile, Angel Dean Winchester, Angel Vessel Sam Winchester, Angel Wings, Angelic Grace (Supernatural), Angelic Lore, Angelic Possession, Angelic Whump, Author Should Probably Sleep, Author regrets nothing, BAMF Angel Things, Basically there's moments where everyone isn't necessarily dying inside, But Also Some Hurt No Comfort, Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond, Charlie Bradbury Is Iconic, Cole Trenton Ships Destiel (Lowkey), Dean Winchester Actually Deals With Feelings, Dean Winchester Can See Castiel's Wings, Dean Winchester Has a Heart, Demons, Destiel slow burn, Eileen Leahy Is A Certified Badass, Enochian, Enochian-Speaking Castiel (Supernatural), Enochian-Speaking Dean Winchester, F/F, F/M, Feels, Fluff, Flying, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I like descriptive writing so this fic screamed party time, Internal Struggle, Learning curves, Learning to Use Powers, M/M, Mother Hen Dean Winchester, Only now he has the feathers to go with the title, Sam Winchester Does Not Take His Brother's Emo BS, Sam Winchester is a total little brother, Senses, Seraph!Dean, Seraphims, Some light crack here and there (though I think it's mostly in the fluff category), Winged Dean Winchester, Wingfic, Wings, Word vomit but hopefully the good kind, angel!cas - Freeform, legitimate plot aside from ship, updates regularly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:42:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 39
Words: 101,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26903830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkOfEmrys/pseuds/InkOfEmrys
Summary: Featuring angelic crash courses, fluff and angst and emotions alike, Dean dealing with what he is inside, and a heaping pile of what I hope is sufficiently descriptive writing:Dean Winchester has always prided himself on his humanity. On being who he is, and not living on the same side of the line as the supernatural beings he'd been raised to hunt.But what options remain when it's revealed that what he'd known himself to be was never the truth?Dean's faith in who - and what - he is will be tested by new truths and shadowed by new strengths, and challenges he's never faced will stir and come to light (just in time for him to face them head on).Will he find it within himself to fight and win?Or is balance not in the cards for a being with power he's never before had to comprehend?
Relationships: Canon Compliant Relationship - Destiel, Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Charlie Bradbury & Original Female Character(s), Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Eileen Leahy & Sam Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Team Free Will & Charlie Bradbury
Comments: 356
Kudos: 165





	1. Me Catching You Guys Up on The Premise of This Thing

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [From Skin to Feathers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11991168) by [Dean_Centric](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dean_Centric/pseuds/Dean_Centric). 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SO. This thing, at its beginning, lowkey took me by storm, and after having written over 10k words within forty-eight hours, I decided that there was nothing stopping me from posting as I go.
> 
> The inspiration for this story came from the work From Skin To Feathers by Dean_Centric, which (when I began) was registered as uncompleted/last updated about a year and a half ago. I'll give a full, casually written summary in the first chapter area, or you can just the read the story's beginning yourself, but for all intents and purposes, the premise is that Dean is revealed to be a Seraph, a species of angel whose angelic traits are dormant until they come within proximity of their grace, and my work is born just before the day Dean becomes what he truly is.
> 
> I will tell you in advance that my story is not meant to be a part of any other; all I really did was borrow the idea, and begin to tell my own story with it. Regardless, if you like the idea of angel crash courses, Dean dealing with what he is inside, and a heaping pile of what I hope is sufficiently descriptive writing, you're in the right place.
> 
> Thank you, and I encourage you to give me a shot, and leave a comment on what you think!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of 11/29/2020, Dean_Centric has actually added another chapter to their initial work, so, to clarify: the point at which I began creating my own story is the morning Dean is to collect his grace; which falls, I believe, after the end of their chapter ten, for reference on the summary provided below.
> 
> Also, this recap is written totally casually: the writing style is more in-depth once you get into the actual story. It also gets better as you go through. The first few chapters, I wasn't yet sure of how the story was going to go, but once I found my footing, well. There's a reason this thing gets as long as it does.

So, here's a summary of Dean_Centric's work (mostly sticking to what is relevant for understanding what I did with its setup), just to get us all on the same page. **Warning, this is all plot explanation, so if you want to go read their work for yourself, first, please do. This mostly just gives you a basic idea of where my story is rooted.**

**You _do not_ need to read their story to read mine.**

Dean and Sam take on a case in a small town where a woman had recently arrived, slowly exhibited signs that something was wrong with her health, and was then found dead with two slits in her wrist but no straightforward cause of death. No one could explain what had happened to her, basically at all.

The brothers show up to investigate and start doing their thing, but in the meantime, Dean starts experiencing some mildly weird things, starting with a very gradual decrease in appetite, but then turning into a ringing, screaming-in-his-ears sensation that made him lose consciousness when they went to the morgue to look at the victim's body. Sam tried to get him to eat something, but he was cagey, and really wasn't hungry for whatever reason, and then the ear-splitting ring started again once they opened the drawer to give it another go. Dean ended up waiting in the car while Sam looked over the body. At this point, Dean thinks it's some kind of witchy crap, and that it'll go away once they kill the thing that killed the victim. Sam, however, didn't find anything to suggest witchcraft, and so they go to the home were she was found to look around.

Dean's back starts getting pretty itchy while they're checking for hex bags and EMF, leading to Sam once again asking what's wrong (which Dean once again deflects), and then Sam decides to go back and look at the body again, making Dean stay behind in their motel. Sam hasn't thought to look at the victim's back.  
Dean gets pretty bored while he's waiting, going through the list of causes they eliminated again, but then there's a ringing, an electric feeling in the back of his head, and he feels something that just feels like _Sam._ He doesn't know what the hell is happening, and the sensation kind of fights him for a bit, but then he tries to let it in just a little, and he feels things, his energy spreading through every molecule around him. He freaks out a little bit about what Sam will think if he finds out, but then he hones in on Sam's essence again, and he can feel what Sam's feeling. He gives his younger brother a call, makes sure everything's okay. Sam tells him the victim's back was torn up, that based on Dean scratching at his own back this was most likely a case of ghost sickness. Dean agrees not to irritate the offending area, and then Sam gets back, checks Dean out (the skin above his shoulder blades is red and swollen), and then Dean goes to a take a shower,

Dean's back is pretty bad, but he tells Sam it's fine, (typical), and then heads out to go to talk to the local bartender and see if they know anything. Dean was able to feel Sam drifting off from the bar's parking lot, sending him a text and telling him to sleep. He extended his senses around the building, entering a brief sort of meditative state with his surroundings.  
The bar turned out to be a bust, and Dean headed back to the motel.  
Sam said they should call Cas, but Dean was against it, citing that Cas was busy and that they didn't need him for this, but Sam pushed, and Dean lowkey freaked because he could feel everything Sam was feeling. He left the room, heading out to an empty lot behind the building they were staying in, and he kicked an old car, but apparently the kick was pretty damn hard and so glass shot up and exploded in his face. He got back later, his face all cut up, and went to go wash it off (Sam was concerned), but while in the bathroom Dean realized his skin had all suddenly healed. He was spooked, but lied about it, and hid his face before he went to sleep.

Sam shook him awake, freaked out that Dean's face was just fine, and Sam tried to get Dean to explain what was wrong, and when that didn't work Sam called Cas who showed up pretty quickly. Cas took one look at Dean, (who was next to himself with fear and anxiousness), and stepped back, dropping the bombshell that Dean had angel grace in him, angel grace that was undeniably his own. There was confusion, concern, and the facts were that Dean had been a Seraph, a species of angel, his whole life, and having come within 100 miles of Michael's Crypt unlocked the first pieces of what he was becoming. It turned out that the woman who died had gone through the same thing as Dean, but she hadn't found the rest of her grace, and died as a result. Dean was...suffice it to say that there's a lot of emotions. Sam is worried as hell for him and when Dean asks if he can just stay human, the answer is no, because the process has already started and otherwise he'll die like the woman whose case they'd been unable to puzzle out.

Dean blows out the lights in their motel in the ensuing conversation, and they head out to another one, some seventy miles inland, intending the next day to set out for Dean's grace. Dean will have to find it by connecting to what's already within him. Sam asks if they want to eat before the night, and Cas gives his usual line of not requiring sustenance, after which Dean comes to the heartbreaking realization he doesn't either. But he's not ready for all of this, and so when Sam leaves the room, he cries into Cas's shoulder until he finally falls asleep.

That's where they leave off, and basically the point after which I start spinning my own yarn.

Some discrepancy-related disclaimers:

In Dean_Centric's work, they get into Destiel a little bit and cite conflict in heaven as a marker for when in the show's timeline this takes place. Where I start, the two of them are the way they were in canon; Cas in love with Dean, Dean oblivious to the way he feels. As for the timeline, I have them in the bunker, and we see characters like Crowley and possibly others from here and there. Heaven is basically always in conflict after season five, anyway, so technically speaking I'm not bending much. I've really jumped into this feet first, so maybe I'll solidify some kind of vague time period eventually, but this is just a disclaimer that while the canon time isn't overly confusing, it isn't explicitly in parallel with canon either. 

In the original story, as well, we see Cas teleporting (meaning his wings were still intact), but in my version, Cas does not have the ability to teleport on his own any longer. His wings were damaged in the Fall.

Addition: Cas, I have decided, is not leaving their side.

I'll add more to this bit on differences and disclaimers as I continue to write.

For now...I want to put up the first chapter, so I'm going to run through that wall-of-text-summary once to make sure there's general coherency, and then we'll get to it.

I'm really looking forward to what you guys might think of this.

I hope you enjoy!


	2. The Morning Of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, yall: chapter one of god knows how many.
> 
> (I promise though, I meant what I said about having written 10k words in 48 hours. Currently all of that is ready to post, which I'll probably do on a semi-regular basis starting in the next couple days. I'll let you know.)
> 
> With enough comments and community feedback to keep me going, there's no reason I won't continue from there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This and the chapters that follow are currently fairly fresh off the presses, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless.  
> :)

Dean woke early the next morning, a series of subtle shifts in the motel room's vibrations rising into focus and causing the thin veil of sleep to fade up and away from his body.

"Cas?" he said, keeping his voice quiet to make sure Sam wasn't disturbed as well. The older Winchester could feel that his brother soundly asleep, his awareness of the second resting heartbeat somehow as familiar in his head as his own even after only a few short days. It was like he could feel himself growing into the energy, the feeling of himself that seeped into the air where his physical body drew lines that no longer fully applied. It took everything Dean had not to shudder away from the thought.

"Yes, Dean?" came Cas's voice, his vessel's footsteps following as he walked back into Dean's field of vision. The two of them matched one another’s gaze, and memories of the night before, memories of a hunter with his world turned upside down crying into an angel's arms resurfaced briefly in both their minds. Dean looked away, trying to direct what had been stirred anew back out of the crevices of his mind.

"How do you feel?" the angel asked, sitting down slowly at the edge of the bed. As the mattress creaked, the manifesting seraph could feel every molecule shift beneath Cas's weight, the microscopic waves rippling beneath his hands where they pushed his body up from the pillows. Cas must've been able to read this in the Winchester's face, his expression softening in sympathy of the new vulnerabilities that Dean hadn't been given the chance to choose.

"I...felt something, and it woke me up," Dean said, swallowing once. His gaze drifted to his lap. "...I think this was it.” Cas gave him a look, silently encouraging elaboration. “I don’t think I'm ever going to sleep again," he said simply, the words small. His dreams had been peaceful, but now he had to face real life, and his heart was aching all over again.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Cas said, reaching across to rest a hand on Dean's arm. An anchor. "Truly, I am."

"Sorry doesn't change what has to happen next," Dean said quietly, his usual growl drained out of him, leaving a man who felt like he couldn't remember how to belong. "I didn't ask for this, but I...even if I'm not…human..." his voice caught, and he looked to Sammy's sleeping form, letting the sight and the peaceful vibrations help him fight past the lump in his throat. "I won't leave Sam. Not like this. Not after everything we've been through."

The air was still with silence and a thousand unspoken words, but Cas simply squeezed his forearm tighter, rubbing a finger back and forth and feeling the stretched tendons beneath it relax. "May I see your back?" the angel asked, noticing Dean wince and bite his lip as his shoulder flexed beneath his shirt. "I might be able to diagnose how long it will be until your wings are fully formed."

Dean gritted his teeth and nodded, shifting slowly so that his back was turned to Cas's reach. "Do what you gotta do," he said, giving Cas his permission and trying to let his mind drift. He still didn't know how to wrap his mind around it. His _wings._ Carefully, Cas reached out and ran his hands over the long stretches of coiled muscle and flesh, gently feeling the way the growing appendages pushed against the skin and causing Dean to bite back a hiss.

"You might feel something," Cas told him, and Dean held his breath, not sure what that might mean. But all it took was a moment, a moment to recognize the hum in his head, the sigh in his bones and the feel of the force in his chest expanding and filling him up. Cas was tapping into his grace, he realized. Cas was tapping into his grace, and Dean could feel it, could feel every sinew of energy weaving throughout the fabric of the space between them. It was like the night before, when he'd reached out to Cas's spectral form, only...more, this time. Like their life forces were calling to one another, in the form of a gentle ringing more soothing than Dean had ever felt in his life. He wasn't sure how long the two of them stayed that way, but when the feeling tapered away, it felt like it'd waned too soon.

"Your wings are nearly ready, Dean," Cas murmured, giving no true indication that he'd felt the same things. But Dean knew. Dean could still feel him, like he could Sam. Neither of them had their walls anymore. They had never been so bared. "They should emerge once you fully accept your grace."

"Thanks, Cas," Dean murmured, trying to stretch his shoulders and slowly moving to let his legs dangle off the edge of the bed. He wanted to get up, but somehow couldn't bring himself to stand. To face what today would bring, whether he was ready for it or not. He didn't know how to take the first step, the first step in a life where he was something completely different. Some _one_ completely different.

"I'm here, Dean," Cas spoke quietly, his hand warm against the hunter's skin. "Come what may, I promise, I will not leave your side. I have faith in you. I know you will survive this."

Dean's eyes stung, and his head ached, the strength of the angel's conviction eating its way through his chest. He'd never understood confronting his own emotions, never willingly done so in years, but now it was impossible to avoid. He _felt,_ so deeply, that he didn't know what he could say to express even a fraction of it. It's why he'd cried the night before, why he knew his walls weren't going to stand for much longer.

He just wished he knew what would be left of him once they all fell for good.

"Thank you, Cas," he whispered at last, the words cracked and catching at the edge of his lips. "Thank you, for...you know, believing in me, like you do."

Cas smiled, the gesture gentle as he helped Dean's feet reach the floor. "Would you like to go outside, for some fresh air?" Cas asked, his voice low and comforting.

Dean looked at him, surprised. "But don't we need to-"

"We should let your brother sleep," Cas interrupted, spacing the words and waiting for a moment so that Dean would understand. "Take the time, Dean," he explained. "Take the time to think, to feel, to simply be. If I have learned one thing about your lives in the past few years...it is that the two of you never rest." The angel smiled again, a soft invisible glow seeming to ebb from his chest. Cas held out his hand in invitation, and despite the fluttering in his chest - or perhaps because of it - Dean reached out, and agreed to take this breath.

For once, to take a breath, as though maybe it wouldn't be his last.

oOo

Cas led Dean to the motel’s roof, following him up the stairs and letting him sit where they could feel the morning wind brushing past their faces.

“It’s so much,” Dean whispered, his eyes wide as the pockets of air passed through and softly beat against his skin. “Cas, I- I gotta ask,” he said, swallowing and trying to work past the returning lump in his throat. “Does it always, feel like this?”

“What do you mean?” Cas asked, tipping his head with a characteristic squint.

“I mean, everyone’s feelings, every freakin’ molecule in the air, every person or thing or whatever that comes into contact with my…with my…” he tried, frustrated, to find the right words that wouldn’t make him feel as scared as he was. “With _me.”_

“You feel yourself,” Cas spoke aloud, processing what Dean was saying. “You are no longer limited to the confines of your body.”

“Yeah, something like that.”

Cas took a moment to think, letting his hair be brushed back from his forehead and his legs momentarily dangle beyond the control he kept over his limbs. “I believe, Dean,” he said at last, “that this new empathy you have acquired is part of what makes you, as a seraphim, stronger than even an archangel. It is a manifestation of what made humans special to begin with, what made them the angels’ original mission.”

The Winchester winced at the title, at the line drawn between him and everything he knew, just like he had every time he’d been reminded in the past two days. It was still no easier for him to think about, but Cas knew he needed to hear it, and continued.

“Angels…it is not in our factory settings, so to speak, to feel the way humans do. Some, like me, have found ourselves capable of learning, though I’m well aware I have a long ways to go before understanding nearly as much as one of you. But _you,_ Dean, having lived as a human, and now growing into what you have truly been all along…this is your strength. It has been, all your life, and now it has only become all the more true.” Cas turned, looking into his eyes. “You are not changing, Dean,” he said. “You have simply become more of what you already were.”

The hunter looked into the angel’s face, and then his own hands, sucking in a breath at the perception of every skin cell that coated his body. “I’m…I’m a seraphim,” he said, forcing the words out despite the way his lungs twisted in his chest.

“Yes,” Cas said, shifting slightly closer and allowing himself to brush nearer to the close-held tendrils of the grace spinning themselves from Dean’s soul. “Just as you are the brother to Sam Winchester.”

“Like I'm a brother to Sam,” Dean let his voice repeat. Cas could feel the bruising fear that kept Dean tucked into himself, and how desperately it longed for release. “Like I'm...other things."

“Like you are an ally to Castiel,” Cas supplied, drawing his companion’s gaze back to him.

“Family, of Castiel,” Dean amended. He leaned closer, allowing the warmth he knew Cas could feel wrapped tight over his chest to open, just enough. “We’ll always be your family, Cas,” he said, letting their shoulders touch in a gesture of solidarity.

A contented hum stretched across the space where they touched, and Dean shifted, resting his head against the angel’s trenchcoated shoulder.

“I don’t know if I’m ready,” he said eventually, as they watched the sun pull its way into the sky. “But if I’m as ready as I’m going to get…then so be it.”

He swallowed, rising to his feet.

“It’s time to go knock this one in the hole.”


	3. To Be Whole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Here's the second chapter.  
> I'm not sure which days exactly I'll be posting, but for now, expect at least a chapter (or two) a week, and with enough motivation from all of you maybe I'll be able to commit to more than that.
> 
> Enjoy, and I look forward to your thoughts!

Dean closed his eyes and cast his senses down to the rooms beneath them, maneuvering around the other occupants until the set of vibrations he was looking for caught his attention. “Sam’s awake,” he said aloud, blinking and exiting the state of immersed awareness to an expression of surprise on the angel’s face. “What?” he asked. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No,” Cas said, shaking his head and seemingly attempting to collect his thoughts. “You just…you have a natural affinity for this, Dean,” he said. “I’m not surprised.”

Dean grunted, but anything he might’ve responded with was momentarily drawn away by a sharp twinge from between his shoulder blades. “I’ll go get Sam,” the hunter said, ignoring the waves of concern by rolling his shoulder in a circle with as large a radius as the barriers of his unmanifested wings would allow. “Feel free to wait by the car.”

Cas nodded and watched him walk off, the masses of feathers pushing from beneath flesh and cloth no doubt rippling in a way that made the angel grateful they were hidden away from harm.

“Sammy?” Dean called as he opened the door, eyes settling on where his brother was pressing a shirt into his bag by the bed.

“Hey, where were you?” Sam asked, pulling the zipper and slinging the packed round of canvas over one arm. “I was just about to come looking.”

“Cas and I were, uh, just getting some air, up on the roof.” Dean shrugged out of habit, but had to bite back a wince at the pull that resulted in trying to move his muscles further than they would go.

Sam noticed, and the wave of nervousness emanating from his center grew slightly in strength.

“It’s nothing, Sam,” Dean said, trying to reassure him. “Cas checked me out, and he said that the…the wings, should come out when I find the grace.”

“And you’re sure you’re okay until then?” the younger brother asked, walking closer and grabbing Dean’s bag off the second footboard along the way.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

Sam stopped in front of him, and all of a sudden, Dean’s gaze couldn’t help but soften with affection. Affection, for the fierce brotherly love that was so clearly intertwined throughout everything that made Sammy what he was.

“Uh, Dean?” Sam asked, unsure of the reason for the change in his brother’s expression. Immediately, however, whatever it had been pulled away, draining from Dean’s face, and Sam regretted it just as quickly.

“For the past few days, I’ve…I’ve just been able to feel a lot, Sammy, is all.” Dean didn’t intend to say any more, but Sam tipped his head, a slight quirk rising from the corner of his mouth to his eyebrows.

“Like what?”

Dean paused. “Like, uh, the stuff Cas is always saying about molecules,” he said eventually, choosing to bury the rest. “No big deal.” He shrugged again, this time with less force, and took his bag before heading back out the door.

He tried to block out the extra senses, but found yet again that this was simply his cross to bear.

oOo

“Okay, so,” Sam began as he locked the motel door behind him and found Dean and Cas by the Impala. “Do we know where we’re going?” The question was unspecific, but both eyes moved solely to Dean in wait of an answer.

Dean hesitated to do what he needed to in front of the both of them, but ultimately forced himself to ignore the apprehension, and just get it the hell over with. “Give me a second,” he muttered, fumbling with his hands as he pulled them from his pockets and laid one over his chest. He pressed his eyes shut, letting the grace he’d acquired rise to the front of his being. He let it in, let in all the wants and needs he’d been keeping suppressed since the moment they’d begun to form.

 _Cas,_ he thought, remembering how it felt when the two of them had been connected. Like home, like he could melt where he seeped into the spectral realm almost like one would under the comforting folds of a blanket woven from starlight. After a few beats of struggle, however, he steered himself away, knowing he could never give in that much. He focused on the rest, on the pulse of energy that had been slowly building since the day they drove into town. Building, shaping, like it was water slowly flowing into a well; water through which he needed to find the stream. To be _whole._ He’d been fighting it, he realized, the urge to take his grace and embrace what he was, an urge so powerful he felt the whole world would be as it should once it was done. It scared him.

But he had to do it.

For Sam, and Cas.

For his family. 

He gasped as his eyes lurched open, the alien glow of grace shining over his pupils before washing away and back inside him. He looked down at his hands, into the air, feeling the feathered cords pull on either side of his spine.

“Dean?” Sam asked, hands held inches away as though he was restraining himself from trying to provide his brother aid he wasn’t sure could really help anymore.

“Did you succeed in making the connection?” Cas asked, his voice even, but the same worry rippling from the both of them. Dean had to blink twice into the heel of his palms to make it wane, to keep it from flooding him over.

“I-I can feel it,” he said, swallowing to clear his throat and then shifting so he could open the door to the driver’s seat. “Come on. I know where it is.”

Sam and Cas exchanged brief glances, both registering the resolve that had risen to Dean’s tone.

It was clear they had little time to waste.

oOo

Dean drove in silence, the radio off and his cassette tapes stowed away. Every now and again his senses would cast out to his brother, checking on signals of hunger and tiredness and any other strands of discomfort, and reflexively sending out vibrations to soothe anything he could. The first time he did this, Cas sucked in a breath, and Dean know this meant he was getting stronger. He forced himself to ignore the mounting worry radiating just as strongly, because he almost preferred how on edge he was to the thought of going completely insane. He could only pray it would be better once he had his grace, he realized about halfway through the drive.

He didn’t want to imagine all of this getting any worse.

It was an hour and a half before he pulled to a stop, letting the Impala rest just off a one-lane path that ran past an open clearing. They’d seen almost nothing for miles, the density of population going from little to almost none the closer they got to the spot. The base of Dean’s skull ran cold, an electric sensation going off which had begun five miles ago and now seemed to confirm their location.

“Is this it?” Sam asked, exiting the Impala and standing next to his brother, trying to follow his gaze.

“Yes,” Cas confirmed, able to feel the energy stirring within Dean despite his own angelic lifeblood not reacting to Michael’s crypt at all. “This is where Dean must find his grace.”

Sam was about to ask how, but stopped, when he saw the look on his brother’s face. Apprehension, mixed with a longing to be whole so vulnerable that Sam could barely decipher what it meant.

And then the older of the two began to walk, a ghostly sense of purpose filling his eyes and growing in yearning with every step. 

To Dean’s ears, the air practically sang, every blade of grass ushering him forward and every edge of his being blurred away. He was one with the world around him, and he knew where he was meant to be.

“Don’t,” Castiel murmured, holding Sam back with one hand to keep the younger Winchester from following. “This is meant for the seraph alone.”

Sam bristled, but obeyed, praying with all his might.

The air began to coalesce with Dean’s every thought, drawing towards him from each corner of the field until midstep, his heels rose from the air altogether. His layers of canvas and flannel fell to the ground below, Dean’s bare arms hanging and spine arching to reveal the near bursting skin on his back. The sky above moved to resemble a glowing whorl, like the portal to heaven, only made purely of the one who was meant to pass through it.

The final piece of himself was calling. Its enthralling chorus was washing Dean clean, and making the tendrils of energy that burst out from the shell of his soul reach out to meet it.

 _I accept,_ he told the world, for himself, and for the family to whom he would soon return.

And then he was like an atom of hydrogen in a collider;

Two pieces merging amid the indescribable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking at this, I realized just now that this chapter is fairly short, and then the next one is about the same length. Whoops. Normally I'd try to shift the break or remove it altogether so the word counts would be higher, but it would detract from the flow so I think I'm just going to leave it. I'm a reader who loves long chapters, however, so please know as much as possible that that's what I'll be aiming to give you from now on. It just might take a couple updates until the chapters start growing in length to reflect that.
> 
> Here's some teaser content in the meantime: wings. And soon after, a room Sam finds in the bunker that the boys all start putting to good use...
> 
> I'll see you at the next one, and feel free to leave a comment if you're inclined! I hope you're having a wonderful day!


	4. Author's Notice

Hey, guys. I'm really sorry to make this a full-fledged chapter, but I wanted you all to be on the same page as me on what's happening, and this is the best way to do that. (Unfortunately).

Long story short, within the past couple hours, I lost the history of the last several chapters in the document where I've been writing, and so went from a really good place with this story and making strides of progress to taking a curveball right in the gut. Everything I've written in the last four days, all of which I was so excited to get to refine and post, is all gone. All the edits and refinements and additions I made to the next chapters that would've been posted, also gone.  
(Version history being effectively erased, the thing where OneDrive claims you last updated something at a much earlier date than you know to be true and then proceeds to only contain data from up until that time to which the file reverted, is essentially what's happened to me).

Tech support admins have been contacted, so I'm sincerely hoping for some kind of solution (or at least an explanation) as soon as there will be one, but until then, at this exact moment, I'm still figuring out what happens next. I can _promise_ you, that this isn't the end of anything. I just need to take the time and find my way to a gameplan for reconstruction.

Knowing me, I think I'll need a day or two to try and dip my toes into recreation, but until then...I just wanted to let you guys know what's happened. I was actually really happy with the way I'd written what I had, but it appears as though I'll simply have to do my best to figure it out again.

Thank you for your patience, and to those of you who have experienced any obstacles similar to this, I light a metaphysical torch on your behalf.

If anyone has any solutions, creative or tech-related, I'd be grateful to hear them.

////

Just a note as of,,.,.,.,,., a handful of months later. This situation really didn't persist for long, so we're all good. I've switched to Google Docs and I haven't lost a single word of this story since. So happy ending! Hopefully this gets you guys to reevaluate any dangerous/risky document-or-otherwise saving habits that you have. It's always good to maintain good file-saving etiquette.

Anyway, I hope yall are having a great day and enjoying the story so far! The version of me typing this is from the point in time just after the 38th chapter was posted, so I think I can say with some authority that you've got a ton to look forward to. I figure out how to center section breaks, and begin doing that pretty soon! (Note: I went in and centered all my section breaks in the early chapters. So we're all good!) The writing gets better, a lot better! Angel things, fluff, crack- a whole cornucopia, just for you guys. Things are only becoming more from here. Pretty soon the chapters start to actually be written with some sort of plan in mind, and that only develops and deepens further as time passes. Woo-hoo!

I'll see you in the present, lovelies. If you're reading through for the first time, feel free to leave comments if ever you have any thoughts; seeing what you think is always a joy. <3


	5. Descent (Rebirth)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Here's the next chapter, which I spiffed back up as best as I could after the whole document-reversion fiasco. I switched my OneDrive and may stop using Word for writing like this entirely, so trust me when I say I will not let something like this happen again easily.
> 
> Reconstruction efforts have slowly begun, and I'll be honest, it's a bit of a struggle, but I'm hopeful I'll truck through it and find my way.
> 
> The next two chapters are still there, so posting should continue roughly how it's been if I'm able to write at a similar pace to how I was before and catch up to how far I'd gotten into things. The effort is certainly being made.
> 
> Thank you all so much for your patience and support, and I sincerely hope you enjoy! Your comments are a motivation like I cannot even describe.

Sam and Cas were forced to cover their eyes as the glowing gyre began to descend, its light coming from a point under ground and spreading out to surround the blurring figure within. The grace was weaving itself into existence, the final ingredient it required at least within reach, and it dispersed itself throughout every cell; through every pocket of energy it was now a part of. The wings beneath his skin were catalyzed, the framework that had grown breathed into corporeality and given the right to break free at last. It was like a shockwave, a draping of silk, and a storm all at once.

It was the birth of a Seraph.

oOo

When the light finally receded back into the clouds, Sam and the angel by his side ran like they’d never run before, thinking themselves prepared for whatever they might find – until the second they realized that hadn’t been true at all.

Dean’s figure was aloft over the ground, his arms spread out at his sides. But from his back, radiating out in vast sweeps of ink – threaded with so many colors, all as one, that looking into them was like looking into a person's soul – they saw it for the first time. Dean’s wings, in all their glory, like a night sky painstakingly woven from their best memories and stitched into each and every feather, piece by piece. It was more than they could ever hope to comprehend. 

It was like looking into the face of an angel.

They stood still, and the seraph’s eyes opened; the unmistakable blaze of grace permeating his irises with a molten glow, one that rippled and spread over the six feathery sails that rose to meet the sun. It was an image of power, and of righteousness, every symbol of the kind of man Dean Winchester had grown up to be.

The light spread and diffused to give breath to its awakening, and Dean’s pupils quieted once more to expose their ring of gentle green; his eyelids slowly lowering as he drew a deep inhale, letting the air fill his lungs and brush its essence against his own.

Then, however, the moment broke, and he began to lose his altitude, landing in a brief crush of grass as the lingering glow faded away from his skin.

“Dean!” Sam called, lowering himself to the ground just in front of his brother.

The newborn seraph felt disoriented, a pulse in his chest reacting to the noise and sending immediate signals to a new group of muscles in his back. The topmost set of wings, the wings whose instincts fiercely whispered _protect,_ folded down over his face, keeping out whatever was happening as he struggled to find his bearings.

There was a hushed exchange on the other side of the layered wall, before one set of vibrations moved away, and a different one – one just as familiar – kneeled down at his side.

“Dean,” came a gentle whisper, and even gentler fingers that reached out to stroke the plumage in between them. “Everything is all right, Dean. I promise.”

“C-Cas?” Dean stuttered softly, the name finally coming back to him. He shivered, the grace of his wings responding to the grace that thrummed just beneath the other angel’s fingertips.

“Yes. It’s me, Dean. It’s me and Sam.”

Cas’s fingers continued their steady, rhythmic movement, the feathers relaxing bit by bit until they finally pulled away, curling back over his shoulders.

“Cas,” Dean breathed, seeing him as an angel would for the first time in his life. “Cas, you’re beautiful.” It was out of his lips before he could register it or stop it, but he didn’t care.

The trenchcoated figure tried halfheartedly to fight a smile, blinking once in thanks, and then again in a mirror of the granted awe. “And so are you.”

Dean felt Sam’s hand approaching before he saw it, and took ahold of it with as much grip as he could manage – finding a soft hum of force roll across his palm at the touch. Sam seemed to feel it too, his calloused fingers stiffening once and then melting into what he knew was his brother, all the way through. Slowly, with Sam’s help bearing his weight, Dean stood, his legs shaky and wings dragging against the air before they spread, and helped him stay upright. The feathers ruffled to shake themselves out, and the short sprinkling of grass that eased itself from between the hollow shafts managed to get itself in the younger Winchester’s hair. A grin fought its way to Dean’s lips, a soft laugh breaking the space between them.

“They’re amazing, Dean,” Sam said, his voice hushed with awe. “How do they feel? How do you feel?”

It was quiet for a moment, and Sam didn’t know what to think.

“I feel like me, Sammy,” Dean said at last, his voice catching with more relief, and more emotion than he knew what to do with. “I’ve never felt more like me in my life.” His wings stretched, feathers rising in a subconscious portrayal of the same expression.

Sam gave a watery grin from ear to ear, the gratitude coursing through his mind a welcome stimulus in the back of Dean’s head.

“Try to see if they will respond to your thoughts, and not just your instincts,” Castiel said, trying to remember what needed to be done when the downy muscles were new, but finding it difficult when he was still so mesmerized.

An angel’s wings, any angel’s wings, were sacred; a reflection of their every emotion, the closest thing they had to a manifestation of their soul. And Dean’s…there weren’t words, Castiel found.

There weren’t words in the slightest.

Dean nodded, and then focused, eyes closing and chin tilting up to meet the sky. Sam stood back, and the jet-black wings spread out to their full breadth, each feather piercing as though cast in shades of sunlight itself. His wingspan was easily thrice his normal height, and every new inch of grace-infused plumage was an inch of Dean himself. Slowly, he breathed, drawing his shoulder blades and chest aloft, and the wings began to shift, one set cascading down over the one the beneath it until they rested in alignment, and then folded in to rest atop his back. They met his skin, and from there a sensation spread, letting the expanse of fibrous vanes pass through like the stretch of cells was the portal from which his grace had been unlocked.

One by one, each section disappeared, and the gateway that had opened into flesh sealed itself behind the final layers. The feathers left behind a tattoo that arced over where the appendages were hidden, infinitesimal sigils bound together to form a sweep of soft black nearly the same color as the real version had been only moments before.

The seraph let out of a shuddering breath, his wings returned to him, and his grace back to circulating along with the blood inside his body.

“Either of you guys know when my shirt went?” he asked, resting his elbows against his knees. Somehow, he already missed the feel of the grand sheaves fanning out around him, free in the air where they were meant to be. They weren’t uncomfortable within him, like they had been before they’d manifested. But it was like keeping one’s hair back, like wild curls he’d never before had being tamed in the early morning.

“Here,” Sam said, handing him the flannel that had dropped a few feet away, and folding the dusty jacket under his arm. 

Dean gave a nod in thanks, slipping his arms through the holes and feeling a slight tingle when the cloth brushed his new tattoos. He couldn’t see them, but he could feel them, could trace the patterns without needing a finger.

And damn it all, he thought, that he couldn’t bring himself to be afraid.

oOo

They got back in the car, Sam offering to drive and Dean letting him, so he’d be free to let his new senses extend from where he sat.

“I see those looks you’re giving me, pre-law,” Dean said partway through the ride back to the bunker, glancing at his brother out of the corner of his eye. “Don’t deny it, the only reason you haven’t started taking notes is because of some kind of rebirth-courtesy period.”

The corners of Sam’s mouth twitched, and even Castiel had to stifle a laugh.

Never before had the man’s skin felt so much like home.


	6. Day One of All The Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Here's a longer update like I promised. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Your comments are incredible, and such a joy to receive, by the way. Thank you so much to those of you who've been with me every chapter.  
> :)

Dean stood in the Bunker’s garage after the three of them had pulled in, unsure of what to do. It had all been so simple out on that field, but once the buzz of the change had faded and his mind began to process all of it, it was like his skin was fighting him. Like it wasn't solid. He didn’t know how to feel.

His whole existence had just been torn apart and rebuilt in the span of days, and where he’d normally either pass out, eat until he passed out, or drink himself out of consciousness to deal with the situation, none of those options were something he knew himself to be capable of any longer. Seraphs, going off of other angels, wouldn’t need food, or sleep. Hello, endless cycle of days.

The newly-inhuman Winchester caught Sam staring, picking up on his emotions but realizing that after having claimed the rest of his power, he felt like he had a little bit more control over how much he let the outside in. At least there was one upside to all this, it seemed. (However much his stomach turned at the thought).

“You good, Dean?” Sam asked, stepping closer and resting a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Do you feel like you need to rest, or…?”

“No, I- I think I’m good, Sam,” Dean replied, shaking the tension from his limbs and settling on the only thing he could really do. “I’m gonna go…hit up the lore, I guess, start diggin’ up everything the Men of Letters had on seraphs. Sounds like as good a place to start as any.”

“I’ll join you,” Cas said, stepping out of the Impala’s backseat and shutting the door behind him. “Perhaps I’ll be able to fill in some of the gaps, should we encounter any.”

“Sounds good,” Dean said. “You should eat something, Sammy,” he said, his voice softening slightly as he turned back to his younger brother. “The last thing you had was that pizza yesterday.”

Sam sighed, nodding and following the two angels up the Bunker stairs.

He could only imagine what all this was like for Dean.

oOo

Dean stretched out in the Bunker’s main library, Cas sitting across from him as they pored through what few relevant reports the Men of Letters seemed to have recorded. It would seem that several decades ago, one of their own members had suffered the same fate as the other seraph girl in that town’s morgue; unable to find their grace, and then dying as a result of it. The Letters had never pinpointed the cause, only written about what had happened leading up to the final hours of death. The account was by no means pretty, but Dean forced himself to read it regardless.

That could’ve been him, had Sam not pushed and finally called Cas to that motel.

“Dean,” Cas said, pulling the other man’s attention up from the file in his hands. “I think I’ve found something.”

The angel reached across the table and handed Dean a short account on paper, notes jotted in the margins of some text relating to hypothesized species of angel.

“It would seem,” Cas summarized, well aware Dean would most benefit if he got to the point quickly. “That seraphs are in fact capable of sleeping, more so than your typical angel. If you try to fall asleep after periods of exertion, you will most likely succeed.” He leaned back, unable to discern any specific reaction from Dean’s gaze. “I know it’s not much, but…”

“It’s more than I expected, Cas. Thank you.” Dean neatly folded and then pocketed the thin sheets of paper, evidently wanting to review them later on his own. “I think I might, uh…” he started, standing up and taking a file off the desk in his hands. “I think I might go try that out.”

Cas smiled, standing and pushing in his chair as well. “I wish you luck, Dean.”

The hunter’s gaze drifted, and he gave a nod, picking up his jacket and heading out towards the stairs.

It might have been a relief if his heart didn’t feel so tired.

oOo

Dean slept without nightmares or any dreams in particular, finding the sensation to be less of an exhausted drop taken to recharge and more of a general break from consciousness. It was a slight comfort, but he knew that sooner or later, he’d just have to get used to the idea of continuous extra waking hours. 

That day, however, was not today.

He rubbed his eyes out of habit, knowing before he left his room that the sun had risen roughly two hours prior, and that Sam and Cas were both in the main reading area, discussing something that had evidently piqued Sam’s interest. They’d made coffee, black, the way he liked it, but it was getting cold, not the way he liked it. He knew if he reached further, he was fully capable of finding out more, but he didn’t want to, and thankfully the new forces flowing alongside his veins seemed to obey without shooting out any sort of discomfort at the base of his skull. This was already more information than he could gather without weirding him out.

He double-checked that most of his energy was tethered close to his body, not wanting to deal with the idea of his awareness extending farther than it would as a human if he could help it, and then checked it one more time.

He was allowed to take his time getting used to this, he told himself.

He was allowed to want _his_ normal back, even if by most standards it wasn’t normal at all.

“Morning, guys,” he called out to announce his presence once he was downstairs, the ambient thrum of Cas’s grace registering in the tattoos over his back. _So I have an angel detector now,_ he thought to himself. _Good to know._

“Morning, Dean,” Sam said back, a grin on his face for what appeared to be more reasons than one.

“What’s gotten you so happy?” Dean asked, the sarcasm slightly softened by the empathy-driven smile that couldn’t help but rise to his lips. It was the first time in days he’d felt more happiness than worry in his younger brother, and it was reassuring in ways he could barely explain. He leaned back against the table Sam was sitting at, crossing his arms and inviting them to fill him in.

“Sam and I were just discussing how we might begin your training,” Cas began to explain, stopping with his mouth open when Dean moved to cut him off.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hang on a second,” the newly emerged seraph interjected, taken by surprise. “What the hell do you mean, _training?”_

“I mean exactly that, Dean. You must learn how to use your grace, how to control and maintain your wings and energy. We must hone your new strengths and understand your vulnerabilities.” Cas sighed, his gaze bouncing slightly before it settled back against Dean’s face. “Simply put…you will need more in order to survive as an angel than latent instinct will be able to tell you,” he said finally, a touch of apology underlining his tone.

Dean bit his lip, exhaling and forcing himself to see the logic in this. Cas was right, he did need to know what he could do, how to control all these new parts of himself and most importantly, keep the two of them safe. They were why he’d gone through with this. He didn’t want to confront it, but that wasn’t an option.

“Okay,” Dean said, nodding and letting his arms fall to his sides. “So where do we start?”

Sam grinned. “I never thought you’d ask.”

oOo

“Since when do we have a freakin’ sparring room?” Dean asked, stepping out from behind Sam as the younger brother turned on the lights in front of them. The space, whose walls were wide and as high as they looked, was covered in mats, and must have served the Men of Letters for a long time. Dean had to bite back a scoff of appreciation. This was probably one of the few places within the Bunker that would let him unfurl his wings and move around unhindered, he realized.

He felt his smile drop at the thought, but prayed it wasn’t obvious.

“Since always, apparently,” Sam said, taking in the room’s expansive dimensions. “It turns out this room was infused with some sort of…enlarging spell, which is why from the outside, it looks like a broom closet, but on the inside, it’s big enough for you and Cas to train.”

“Me and Cas?” Dean asked, picking up on the exclusion. “What are you going to be doing?”

“Sam volunteered to take notes and be a ‘spotter’,” Cas said, turning to Sam briefly to confirm his repetition of the terminology.

“Oh _hell_ no,” Dean protested, but from the look on Sam’s face, he knew he wasn’t going to be able to talk himself out of anything. “Fine,” he conceded at last, sighing and throwing his arms up in the air. “But I _will_ find a way to get you back.”

Sam grinned, and went to go lean against a part of the far wall so that he could watch from a safe distance.

“Okay, so…” Dean said, letting his arms swing as he followed Cas’s gaze, and tried to ease his apprehension. “Where do you want to start, Cas?”

“When I began my training in the host of heaven,” Cas said, seeming to be working through his memories, “one of the first things we were taught was exercises to keep our wings and our grace at full strength.” The angel took off his trenchcoat and set it on a coat hook, doing the same with his suit jacket so that he could roll up the sleeves of his shirt. “You may wish to undress your upper body, Dean,” he suggested. “Keeping your mind on your wings will be difficult enough without clothing to worry about as well.”

The hunter nodded slowly, a bit hesitant to strip, but deciding he agreed that it would probably make things a little easier. He set the flannel and t-shirt next to Cas’s coat, flexing his shoulders and feeling the tattoos on his back tingle in anticipation.

“I want you to unfurl your wings, one set at a time, beginning with the bottom pair. _Slowly,”_ Castiel emphasized, reminding himself that he was attempting to guide Dean Winchester. This would not be an easy task.

Dean relaxed his body as best as he could, trying to focus on the hum that resonated in the ink born of his grace but finding his efforts awkward, uncertain. He’d opened the portal his back all at once back on the field, he remembered, but he’d still been hopped up on the sensation of all of it fully manifesting. Now, recreating the same feeling was starting to feel like a struggle, especially given how hesitant he was to dip his toes into this at all. He bit into his lip, drawing on the sensation of his wings – like any other limb, he guessed – wanting to be free to move. Wanting to feel the air against his feathers, to push through the boundaries that held them in. To be unchained, to find release, to fulfill the desperate _need_ to escape the _stifling confines of his flesh-_

 _“DEAN!”_ Castiel yelled. Dean’s eyes flew open, his back stinging but otherwise unchanged. The heady ring of grace seeped out of his irises, and when he saw the way Cas was looking at him, he realized immediately that he’d done something very wrong.

“Dean, if you choose to summon your wings the way you did, through brute manipulation of your grace, you run the risk of tearing your body apart.” Dean froze, and Sam drew a sharp intake of breath, fresh worry pulsing across the room and making it seem even emptier than it had been before. “You may no longer be fully tied to the interior of your skin, but this is not simply your vessel. You and your form are not wholly separate.” Cas gave a deep breath, the snatches of his concern permeating the air fading away, but only slightly. “Please, remember that. You must be careful. There are no shortcuts in this process.”

Dean nodded, but found himself genuinely shaken, aware of just how easily those thoughts came when he pushed. Cas’s face softened, motioning to the floor so that the two of them might sit down, legs crossed and facing one another.

“Let me show you the proper way to do it,” Cas murmured. “You must call forth your grace,” he began to explain, “and guide it to open the doorway in your back. Not out of panic, or out of fear, or out of anger. You must communicate with it. Let it come to you. Remember, this energy was created from your soul, and it is that same energy which breathes life into your wings. That is how you must treat it.”

Dean nodded, swallowing, and then concentrated, feeling the power that flowed in tandem with his bloodstream. He didn’t know what to do. He’d worked with it before, whenever he’d searched for Sam and when he got them to Michael’s crypt, but in this moment, it felt like his sixteen-year-old self trying to ask out a girl. He reached around himself clumsily, but came up with nothing.

He took a moment to breathe, and decided to rethink his strategy.

What had gotten him there before was…letting it come to him. So he waited, allowing his heartbeat to fill his ears, and slowly, he found the feeling, a thrum in his bones, the warmth in his gut that wasn’t whiskey. He guided it up, felt it wash over his chest, his eyes, and pointed it down towards the markings over his spine. Slowly, he was able to ask, to open a channel and translate his thoughts into the language of instinct, and the grace responded, moving over his veins until it pooled beneath his shoulder blades, and the door began to lift.

“Only one pair, Dean,” Castiel murmured, paying close attention to the progression of Dean’s mental energies.

The hunter felt Cas’s reminder reverberate through the field under which he was concentrated, and he acted on it, calling forth the lower set and the lower set only; the one intended to provide balance, he remembered, the one whose purpose was equilibrium. Carefully, he had his grace guide them through the gateway, the jet back sails emerging and then solidifying themselves once they were out completely.

“Now call on the second set,” Castiel said, waiting a few moments to allow Dean to hold the position he was in.

In the same time as the first, the middle band of feathers pushed themselves to the outside, settling above the other pair and taking on corporeality of their own.

“And the final set.”

Dean had to resist the urge to trigger their arrival via instinct, instead feeling the process and bringing the final pair through the same way as he had the rest. Finally, when he’d sealed the portal and returned the doorway to his skin, he broke the breath he’d been holding, and realized his forehead was coated with a sheen of sweat. “I did it,” he gasped, letting the feathers sway back and forth and momentarily relishing the feeling that brought him.

“You did,” Cas confirmed, a smile rising to his face as well.

Sam stepped forward from where he’d been raptly watching, the stretched wings taller than he was even when Dean was sitting on the ground. He bent down, looking up at the plumage that moved to make space for him beneath them. “Can I…?” he asked, eyes brushed with innocence in way they hadn’t been in years.

Dean hesitated, but eventually nodded, letting one of the middle wings tentatively stretch itself towards where Sam’s hand was held aloft. The younger brother’s fingers stroked through the down, and Dean suddenly had to stifle a groan, the sheer contentment even more intoxicating than the buzz of alcohol. Sam laughed, able to see the reaction in his brother’s face, and gave one last touch before pulling back. The feathers fluffed themselves contentedly, returning themselves to their arrangement above Dean’s back.

“Are you moving them on your own, Dean?” Sam asked, slightly impressed with the nuance in movement that the wings appeared to be exhibiting.

Dean looked up at the whispering swathes that arced behind him, feeling where they were connected to his skin and the myriad of sensations that spun outwards from their source. The shafts twitched in response to his awareness of them, ready to act however he may direct. It was disconcerting, in the most underlyingly comforting way possible.

“It’s instinct,” Cas supplied, watching Dean and knowing what he was seeing from experience. “The wings of most angels remain in the spectral realm, but overall they function the same. They reflect Dean’s emotions and respond to his thoughts, through the grace that makes them whole.”

“Wow,” Sam breathed. “Are they…vulnerable, if it’s like he has his grace outside his body?”

At this, Dean looked at Cas, attentive for an answer.

“In some ways, yes,” Cas said, contemplating how to respond. “But they are by no means easy to wound, or a physical liability. They were made to protect you, to aid you in battle. The runes in your skin anchor them, supplying them with a constant source of strength that they return.”

Dean took this in, feeling slightly dizzy from all the information, all the sensations. He looked at the black appendages out of the corner of his eye, and realized he felt uneasy, suddenly needing to rid himself of the visual, undeniable reminder of everything that had changed.

“I think I’m gonna put ‘em away now,” he murmured, closing his eyes and turning his head away to hide the burn of grace. When the wings had been rebound, he stood, shadows covering his face, and walked over to pull his flannel back over his shoulders.

“You mind if we take a break, Cas?” he asked, not turning all the way around. He pulled all the loosened threads of himself into as tight a ball as he could, suppressing a grunt at the effort and giving the other angel a moment to stand and brush himself off.

“Yes, for the time being that may be wise,” Cas said, feeling Dean’s grace twisting. “We wouldn’t want to overload you immediately.”

Dean gave a laugh, one that tapered off with little humor. _It’s a little too late for that,_ he scoffed to himself. “Yeah,” he said, pulling the door open. “Wouldn’t want that, would we.”

He left, and Sam and Cas stood in the mostly empty room, watching as Dean’s steps receded down the hall.

“I had hoped that with his grace would come acceptance,” Castiel murmured, “but he’s still ill at ease about everything that’s changed.”

“It’s a lot,” Sam told him, exhaling deeply and crossing his arms. “He’s going to need time. We all will.”

“I suppose.” Castiel rubbed his eyes, fingering the cuff of his shirt. “I just worry for what will happen if he continues down the path of apprehension.”

“It’s Dean, Cas. We both just need to be there for him. He’ll pull through.

“Somehow, he always does.”


	7. Meeting One's Self in the Middle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Here's your update!
> 
> I'm going to start leaving song recs with each new chapter, because I've been listening to so much music these days and sharing is the absolute best. So with that in mind, today we've got Sleep On The Floor by The Lumineers, and The Night We Met by Lord Huron, the latter being courtesy of Nepenthene on this week's update of their fic [I Can't Quit You Baby.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26486233/chapters/64545397) (Weekly updated Destiel fluff plus heart-tugging angelic intrigues, based on comics by the incredible artist on tumblr [lizleeships](https://lizleeships.tumblr.com/) [whose Ao3 account is [lizleenimbus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizleenimbus/pseuds/lizleenimbus)]. Go check them both out!)
> 
> Let me know what you think of the music, and if you have any recommendations of your own, please feel free to leave them in the comments!
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note. Something I'm curious about is how my writing reads to you guys, if you feel like the prose is smooth, or if the word choices/sentence structures work, or generally how it all sits for you as a reader.
> 
> If you have any thoughts or comments or feedback on the subject, please feel free to let me in on them!

It took everything Dean had not to go find a liquor store and drink it, or to curl up under his covers and will himself into a brief coma. He could feel grace saturating every nanometer of his cells, could feel it standing in for where he used to have a soul. He knew he wasn’t human, and he wanted to deal with it, but he didn’t know how to start. He didn’t know how to do anything but grapple with himself, going in circles until his vision blurred, and he couldn’t take cooping himself up in his room any longer. He wished they could just go after a case and distract himself, like normal, but he needed to be able to keep himself in check first, and to do that…

He grunted, slipping off the bed, and the tightly packed spirals of energy within him strained beneath the mental force he used to keep them bound. He was used to locking away parts of himself, to stowing his crap and then moving on with anything that could make him waver locked in a mental curse box. But it was only becoming clearer that he couldn’t do that this time around. He had to fly through the storm. Maybe literally.

Dean sighed, and slowly released the constraints on the extra reaches of himself, agreeing to strike a sort of compromise. He let the wisps of energy that blurred where his body ended and he continued seep into the room, bringing everything that brushed his essences that much more strongly into his fold. He felt a slight prick of fear, but when that passed…he realized he felt okay. More than that, like he should cast himself further. To sweep his surroundings, in a touch of protectiveness he recognized as himself.

Tentatively, he eased his foot off the brake, bit by bit. He felt himself spreading throughout the Bunker, his awareness extending until the warding that lined the outer walls. He might’ve stopped and drawn back, but then, Cas’s grace stirred where he passed, and Sam’s soul gave off a subtle ring. It gave him comfort. With them in mind, he decided, he’d keep going.

Before long, he could feel his grace processing the vibrations of every object, every dust mote and supernatural artifact, but instead of being overwhelming, it was calming. He was built to do this, he realized.

He really was made to be a Seraph.

He gave a sigh-like breath that rippled through the area he covered, feeling at ease in his own being. He was relaxed, the tattoos that guarded his wings softly humming and providing a gentle anchor to make him feel safe. He’d never done any of this in life, but it was as though none of it was new. Like every sensation really did come from _him,_ and not some new version unrecognizable next to the old. It was reassurance, a sense of trust in his own mind renewed. It wasn’t everything.

For now, though, perhaps it was enough to start with.

oOo

Dean drifted ambiently for most of the morning, eventually picking up on the thrum of veggies hissing in a pan and swivel chairs squeaking in their kitchen. It was probably time to come back, he noticed, and slowly he reeled his consciousness back in to his center. This time, he didn’t bind it by force, allowing the misty edges to remain just beyond the border of where the rest of the world met his skin.

Maybe it was a little easier now that he’d dipped his toes in, now that he could see himself that much less like something else. That much less like something unknown.

He felt the air shift and part as he exited his room and began to walk, a slight smile lifting the corners of his mouth at the sensation. He may be Dean Winchester, a man best known for bearing his crosses like they’d burn him if he dared to look at them, but…maybe Cas was right. Maybe this was a chance to be the best version of himself.

If nothing else, he wanted to find out if that was true.

“Dean,” Cas greeted, his grace pulsing when it registered that of the other angel’s, approaching unbound in the air between them. He’d felt the familiar resonance before, like a brush of protectiveness and comfort all in one, and his lifeblood had sung in response. “How was your foray into the spectral realm?”

“It was…” Dean said, briefly brushing eyes with Sam over by the stove and giving him a mental touch of reassurance. “Good. Relaxing,” he finished.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Cas told him. “After what we accomplished this morning…I was thinking that we might take a different approach, and test your empathic and spectral abilities. If you’d like, that is?”

“Yeah,” Sam chimed in, looking up from where he was watching his lunch stir-fry. “I, for one, want to know if you can read my mind.”

Dean snorted. “Trust me, Sammy, your brain is probably a snoozefest. I’ll pass. But sure,” he said, looking back at Cas. “Sounds good to me.”

Castiel’s face brightened, made hopeful by what appeared to be budding signs of acceptance.

Dean leaned back as Sam sat down to Cas’s right with a plate, and began eating while the other two appeared to let their focuses shift elsewhere.

“You know…” the older hunter said after a few minutes, standing up and pressing his palms against the table, “I think I want to try something.”

Cas and Sam looked at one another, and then back at Dean, who was already exiting the kitchen and walking down in the direction of the training room. Sam took his plate in hand and moved to follow, Cas on his tail as they navigated the halls and caught up, looking to Dean for an explanation.

“It’s the wings, I uh…” Dean broke off, seeming to grow embarrassed by the idea, but Cas took a tentative step forward and rested a hand on his shoulder, letting him know it was okay to continue.

“Maybe I should just try it,” the older Winchester ventured, squaring his legs and giving a sharp breath. He called his grace into his tattoos, the gateway opening beneath his clothing and allowing his feathered limbs to materialize. He willed some of his power into the fabric, and the rippling feathers passed through unhindered, like the two kinds of matter could coexist in the same space. And then, once his twenty-foot triple wingspan was all out in the air, he folded the layers of plumage one over the other, bringing them down to rest snugly over his back. He released a breath, and Sam and Cas exchanged brief glances, now that the experiment had apparently been completed.

“I wanted to know if I could just fold them back, without…you know…putting them away,” Dean said, scratching the back of his neck. “So they’re out, but they’re not getting in anyone’s way.” Thinking about walking around the bunker with his wings visible all the time made him anxious, but there was a part of him that did want to be able to. The part that felt so at home here, after a lifetime of motel-hopping and takeout.

Cas nodded in understanding, and Sam walked in a quick circle around his brother, taking in what this position looked like. “It’s like what birds do when they’re not in flight,” he observed, giving a chuckle of appreciation. The lower wingtips trailed slightly against the ground, but as the shafts tucked against one another, the expanse of feathers settled to fit in the space between Dean’s shoulders and about midway down his calves. “Can he fly with those, by the way?” Sam asked, looking up at Cas.

“He might be able to fly the way most angels do, through the spectral realm such that the movement appears instantaneous, but given that seraphs’ wings manifest so differently…we’ll have to test it,” he said at last. Dean opened his mouth, but Cas continued. “However, I’d prefer we wait. We should let him get used to operating the limbs themselves before throwing him into the deep end, proverbially speaking.”

“Okay, then,” Dean nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

“For now,” Castiel spoke, motioning to the mats, “I’d like to see how much of your ability is empathic, and how much is telepathic.”

“Remind me what the difference is, again?” Dean asked, lowering himself and letting the folded sheaves on his back flex upwards to prevent him from sitting down on them.

“Telepaths can read your mind, get specific information, that sort of thing, but empaths are more…emotion-tuned,” Sam explained, glancing at Cas for confirmation.

“Sam is correct. Thus far, you’ve exhibited notable empathic proficiency, but I’m not yet sure just how strong your abilities are. Can you tell me what you’ve found you’re capable of?”

“Well…okay,” Dean said, shifting his legs and taking a moment to think. “Back in that town, before I knew- knew what was happening,” he began, “I was able to feel Sam, from six miles south of our motel.”

“You could _feel_ me?” Sam repeated, setting his now empty plate aside and moving to sit down next to them.

Dean snorted. “Not like that, weirdo. I could…feel what you were feeling. That’s how I knew you were half a second from nodding off when I sent that text and told you to go sleep. And I could sense everything in the buildings next door, the…scents in the bar, the gunpowder residue that told me that place had seen a few things in its time.”

“When you, _felt,_ Sam,” Castiel asked, “could you read what he was thinking?”

“No. There weren’t any words. Just…shapes. Vibrations, I guess. Colors that don’t exist. A heat in the back of my head, and all of it boiling down into something strong that tugged at my gut one way or another. It’s easier to control, now, how much I let it all in,” he told them. “When I got up this morning, I knew where the two of you were, and that Sam was interested in whatever you were talking about. I probably could’ve heard you, if I wanted to, but I didn’t, so I didn’t.”

“Fascinating,” Cas murmured, thinking to himself. “It would appear my hypothesis on the nature of Seraphims is correct.”

Dean felt a slight flush whisper up his face at the memory of his time on the motel’s roof with Cas, the morning before he found his grace. He could barely believe that had only happened the day before.

Sam looked at them, partially suppressing a smirk and partially intrigued, but Dean just shrugged, escaping any weighted sense of profundity. “Cas thinks that the whole empathy thing is the biggest of the deal. Why things like…me, even exist.”

The pressed fans of down against Dean’s back shifted slightly, a manifestation of his emotions that would’ve been almost imperceptible if not for how well these two knew him.

Dean could read it in their faces that they’d seen.

“You guys don’t need to look at me like that,” he told them, his voice lowered by hesitation, but undeniably honest the way it often was on the rare occasions he spoke like this. “I’m adjusting, but…I’ll accept this.” He pushed out a sharp breath, aware of what he was promising not just them, but also himself. “One way or another.” He thought for a moment, and his mind seemed to find its balance. “I just need time, and…well, some room to stretch, I guess.” He pushed out his wings in emphasis, hoping he wouldn’t regret the move, and Sam had to reflexively lean backwards to avoid feathers cuffing him in the head. There was a moment of silence that then dissolved into a laugh, and Dean felt himself respond to the sensations of warmth just like he had in the car on the way home.

He could create happiness, he realized for the first time.

Maybe that meant something after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teasers for what's coming next: the first seeds planted about caring for one's wings, seraph powers, and a voicemail from hell.
> 
> I'm not going to lie, I'm actually really psyched for the next few chapters. They've been fighting me just a little bit for a couple days now, trying to get them to flow and other things, but as I type this it's like my creative juices are bubbling and things are coming into alignment. We're just getting started on a couple things, folks, and I am so excited to bring you along for the ride.
> 
> Stay tuned, and I'll see you at the next one!


	8. More Than My Factory Settings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Hope I didn't keep you waiting too long after the last update. I sat on this one for a little bit, and finally decided to go ahead and post it.
> 
> This round's music recs are Night Moves by Bob Seger (from s11ep4, if anyone remembers - I swear, it was a good song already, but after that episode it's just gotten even better), and Honeybee by The Head And The Heart, which is not only a really good song, but has lyrics that remind me of Cas a little and tend to make me smile.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Dean had promised himself he’d at least start getting used to the wings, but the next day, he definitely hadn’t been prepared for what Cas had taken his time in bringing up.

“You’re telling me I have to _what?”_ he asked, stopping in his tracks on the way out of that morning’s session in the sparring room.

Cas sighed, repeating himself. “Grooming, Dean. The concept is fairly uncomplicated.”

“Where was this when the damn feathered things first showed up, huh?” the hunter demanded, crossing his arms and taking a step forward, letting the door close behind him.

“I wasn’t sure just how near to the spectral realm your wings are situated,” Cas explained, with whatever information he could. “How much your grace would inherently take care of on its own.”

“What, and you’re saying it doesn’t?” Dean’s voice had risen in incredulity, but at the look the trenchcoated figure gave him, he got the message that he was overreacting. The seraph sighed, briefly pinching the bridge of nose. “Okay, Cas,” he relented, exhaling deeply. “What do I got to do?”

“How long has it been since you summoned your wings, outside of our training?” the other angel asked, his tone even.

“Uh, they were pokin’ out yesterday for a couple hours, and then I put ‘em away so I could lie down,” Dean recollected, briefly scratching the back of his neck. “Why?”

“Call on them now.”

Dean blinked in acknowledgement and then took a moment to concentrate, the glow of grace forming a ring of light beneath his eyelids as the runes in his back gave way to what lay beneath. It wasn’t yet second nature, but he was making visible progress adjusting to his new abilities, his angelic mentor of sorts observed. He was in control, and that was what mattered.

“Run your fingers through the shafts, beneath every layer,” Castiel told him, watching the plumage sway now that it was back in the open. “You should know what to do from there. Think of it like how you and Sam brush your hair in the morning, or maintain the health of your teeth. Your wings have not reached such a state where you would feel distress driving you to take care of them, but nonetheless, it is a good set of patterns to integrate early.”

The two of them sat down, and Dean stretched one of the middle sections on his left, slowly dragging his fingertips along the down. So far seemed so good, he thought, until he felt a slight tug, and a feather silently drifted to the ground between his knees.

“What the hell, Cas?” he demanded, picking up the fallen vane. “Is this normal?”

“Yes,” Castiel confirmed, and Dean visibly relaxed. “You may lose around a dozen each time you groom, sometimes more or sometimes less. It’s perfectly natural.”

“Alright, I can deal with this,” Dean muttered to himself, filing all the information away. “Do I gotta…wash them?” he asked awkwardly. “Oil them, or something?”

“You would only need to consider washing them in the event that it would be less efficient to clean them with your grace,” the older angel told him, one hand straightening the cuff over his other wrist. “As for oils, there is a natural substance present that builds up at the base of the feathers. In grooming them, you are allowing it to spread and nourish the surrounding areas.”

Dean nodded. His wings fanned out contentedly, clearly enjoying the chance to stretch, and Dean let them, his own shoulders subconsciously relaxing as well.

“So, do you have to do this stuff too, Cas?” Dean asked, one band of feathers mirthfully brushing the side of Castiel’s arm.

Cas smiled slightly, secretly enjoying the comfort of a manifestation of Dean’s grace so close to his own. “No,” he said wryly, knowing this tone of choice was often one that his Earthly companions received with a touch of humor. “Not very much.”

“Bummer,” the hunter replied, a hint of a smile (just as wry as the one in front of him) pulling at his lips in response.

They sat in relative silence for a few moments, and a warm rhythm in Dean’s chest began to hum, finding itself met with another harmony that flowed in parallel. He felt a nudge to look closer at what was in front of him, like there was something he’d be gladdened to see; a gentle push, one that he found he didn’t distrust. He enabled his curiosity, and grace seeped into his eyes with a subtle glow, allowing him to venture beyond a human’s vision.

Dean understood what it was, and whistled softly, taking in the view.

“I think you have a halo, Cas,” he mused, his voice low with the subtleties of awe as he gazed up at a soothing ring of light, suffusing from a point just a few inches above them. “I’m pretty sure that’s your grace, if I go lookin’ for it.”

Cas tilted his head upwards, as if to look for himself, and Dean then began to realize just how comforted he felt by its presence. His wings had settled to curve around his sides, their position relaxed, and the only ripples of movement amid the layers were born from a feeling of ease.

Cas opened his mouth to reply, his eyes bright, but suddenly, the door behind them opened – Dean’s plumage instinctually rising as he turned to face the spike in stimulus.

“Sorry,” Sam’s voice spoke out as he stepped inside, wincing at the moment he’d broken. “I, uh- Crowley left a message, just now,” he told them, clearing his throat. “You guys are going to want to hear this.”

“It’s alright, Sam,” Castiel told him, brushing off his trenchcoat and rising to his feet.

Dean raised his chin, folding his wings against his back and motioning for Sam to play it, and the other hunter obliged, pulling out his phone and pressing play over the voicemail.

 _“Moose, squirrel,”_ Crowley’s voice began to speak, subtle traces of tinny audio distortion in the background indicating that the message was likely sent from hell. _“And angel, if you’re there as well. I’ve a…matter of state, shall we say, that I’d like to discuss with the three of you. Call it a meeting, call it a date, whatever you find enticing. I’ll save the details for the soiree. Tomorrow, seven. The address I texted you.”_ It sounded like he leaned in closer, his breath an audible puff against the mic. _“I trust you’ll be on time.”_

The receiver clicked, and Sam tightened his grip on the edges of the screen, looking up at the two in front of him. “What do we do?”

“Well, we go check it out,” Dean said, crossing his arms.

Sam and Cas exchanged a glance, and Sam’s head tilted slightly. “Dean, it’s only been two days since you powered up,” he said in reminder, his voice cautious. “Are you sure you’re really ready to get back into all this?” He ran a hand through his hair, and concern simmered in the space just above his fingers. Dean felt it, could damn near see it if he tried, and almost without thinking he put his new instincts to use, easing what he could and finding that his own muscles relaxed in a mirror of those in front of him. However, Sam then appeared to realize why he had calmed, and a slight tension returned like a prickle beneath his skin. Dean looked away, and the lone human in the room took a moment to remind himself that however willing he was to accept all of this, adjusting was going to take time. For all of them.

“Anyway...regardless,” he continued, pretending nothing had just happened. “Crowley’s a demon. He’s going to know what’s changed the second he sees you. How do you think he’ll try to spin that?”

The older Winchester frowned, unable to find an immediate way to counter the argument.

“Actually…” Cas spoke up. “I believe there is a foolproof way to keep Crowley in the dark.”

Dean’s gaze met his, eyes sharp in search of an answer. “How?”

“The Seraphim, as you know,” Castiel began to explain, “were created as a failsafe, should the host of heaven ever find itself against the side of humanity. They were meant to live their lives completely indistinguishable from humans, never aware of their true inheritance until the time came for their rebirth.”

“Yeah, Cas, I’m pretty sure that ship’s sailed already,” Dean deadpanned, a section of his feathers giving an impatient twitch. “What’s your point?”

“The _point,”_ the angel told him, his eyes sobering slightly, “is that the hidden nature of what you are is a trait that extends even after the acceptance of your grace. There is a defensive framework somewhere within you, lying dormant. You simply need to find it, and succeed in guiding your grace to activate it.”

“And if I can do that,” Dean said, “if I can activate this…angel-incognito mode, we can go deal with Crowley, and he won’t get tipped off?”

“That’s correct,” Castiel confirmed. “Unless you were to summon your grace or intentionally display your wings, this…internal warding, of sorts, should keep you hidden from his eyes.”

Dean’s gaze grew contemplative, trying to wrap his head around the idea.

“Do you have any idea where to start with this, Cas?” Sam asked, seeing the look on his brother’s face. “Any experience you’ve had before?”

“I believe there are two ways we can approach this,” came the response, somewhat hesitantly in nature. “One, Dean can meditate, and try to communicate with his grace. The answers are within him, it is simply a matter of finding them.”

“And the second option?” Sam prompted.

“…should that fail,” Cas continued cautiously, “we may be at a loss for favorable solutions.”

There was silence for a moment, the tone’s weight somehow tangible over their shoulders.

“I’ll tell you what,” Dean said, breaking the tension. “I’ll give this thing a go, and if that doesn’t work, we’ll see what’s next on the list. Alright?”

Cas nodded, he and Sam both in agreement that it was as good a plan as any, and Dean lowered himself to the ground, letting his wings sink back within him as he cleared his mind to concentrate.

His thoughts weren’t quiet, so the idea of clearing one’s mind might not have really been the right way to think about it. But after his little trip down spectral lane the other morning, he found his approach at least a little less awkward in nature. Maybe he would know what to do.

 _Okay, so…any help, down here?_ he thought in the direction of his grace, trying the first thing he could think of. He waited, his patience admittedly not on the higher side of things, but ultimately felt nothing but the same steady, home-screen-variety hum. _Alright,_ he decided. _Time for plan B._

Dean reached out, slowly, and let his consciousness release itself from its tether – ebbing around and through whatever was at the front of his mind. Pictures of Sam, and Cas, and then Crowley, and jobs of the kind they’d be handling the following day. There was the smell of pie, so real in technicolor, angelic, and heavenly glory that he had to all but drag himself back to the task at hand. Eventually, however, he found his way to a trickle of memories; events or the precursors to fights wherein he’d had to stay off the radar. That feeling, the feeling of stealth, of readiness without his target’s awareness pooled into his mind’s eye, and he focused, reliving it all and asking the energy within him for the next step. He was trying to trigger a form of instinctual autofill, in a way, if this really was something embedded in his subconscious. Like muscle memory.

And then just like that - it clicked; the next step as natural in a sense as anything he’d ever done. He didn’t need to bind his grace, or hide it by force, he realized, the solution almost glaringly simple.

He just needed to shift it, and switch himself to a different setting.

He felt for the lines of his body, the hazy edges that revealed him for what he was, and he gave a slight tug, trying not to rush in all at once. He breathed, and as he breathed, he _pulled,_ casting his grace against his form like iron and beckoning the liquid heat to solidify beneath his every cell. His wings, little more than energy within him as they already were, seemed to hum until they all but diffused, the sigils that swept over them closing the door and then sliding the deadbolt shut. His essences moved inside the walls that began to corporealize, responding to the defense’s activation, and something shifted in his core, like an open sphere dissolving into something secure. Something impenetrable.

His eyes jolted open once it had locked into place, and he looked at Cas, wide blue pupils the first thing he saw. “Did it work?” he asked, catching his breath. “Trial one, marker?”

“Dean, I-” Cas stammered, his eyebrows raised in shock as he tried and failed to find his equanimity. “I can’t sense _anything,_ anything that marks you as an angel.” His eyes narrowed, continuing to search but unable to find a hole in the invisible shields. It was unsettling, not only that it seemed as though Dean’s ambient energies were suddenly gone, but that he’d evidently become so acclimated to their presence in such a short period of time. “Even your grace, it’s shifted to emit the outer frequencies of a human soul. It’s- it’s remarkable.”

“What about the markings in his back?” Sam asked, realizing in a flicker of surprise that even he, subconsciously, felt that his brother was human again. “Wouldn’t those be a giveaway?”

Cas shook his head. “The runes guarding his wings have retreated into his skin,” he explained. “They’ve become imperceptible, despite my knowledge that they are there.”

Dean let out a slow whistle, his breath catching slightly as he looked down at his hands, and took in a sense of solidity like he hadn’t had in over a week.

“How do you feel, Dean?” the other angel asked, forcing himself to adjust, and set his own vague discomfort aside.

“Like…like a holstered gun,” Dean said, trying to put it into words. “Like the Death Star, only less likely to murder a planet.”

The trenchcoated figure nodded, his own impression resembling the same description. “And your abilities?”

“The extra senses, 're...sort of on standby, unless I go looking for them,” the hunter answered, taking a moment to think. “Same with the emotion, feely stuff.”

“Huh,” Sam remarked. “It’s like you’re filtering out distractions.”

“Yeah,” his brother agreed. “I guess.”

They stood for a moment, and Dean stretched, trying to find comfort with his new internal setup. His grace, which before had been surrounding, shifting, ebbing as it went, was now focused, like it was ready. Driven.

Like this was business mode.

Dean pulled out his phone and scrolled through his history to retrieve the right contact, the stupid three-digit number he was looking for making him suppress the urge to roll his eyes.

He dialed, holding out the device and setting it to speaker, and the room filled with one ring, then two, then finally the telltale click that the line was live.

“Ah, squirrel,” Crowley spoke in greeting, likely lounging near the seat of his throne. “I take it your brother received my invitation?”

“Yeah.”

“And…?” the demon asked, waiting for a substantive answer. “I’m aware the two of you have dreadful manners, but this is really no way to RSVP.”

“We’ll meet you,” Dean ground out, the invisible stretches of where his wings would be desperately wishing to flare. “And this’d better not be some sort of half-assed evil plot, because I swear, Crowley, we do not have time for any of your crap.”

“Noted.” The salesman shifted, leaning in closer to his speaker. “Are those ruffling feathers I hear?” he asked, a slight coyness audible against his lips.

Dean stiffened, but then remembered that he wasn’t the provocation’s target.

“You asked for my presence,” Castiel responded, his tone even but clearly not inviting of vexation. “Here I am.”

“And there you will be, it would seem,” Crowley mused. He stood, looking down at his device. “In that case...I’ll be seeing you boys soon. A word of advice that tardiness is unbecoming,” he offered them, simply because he could. _“Ta-ta.”_

The line went dead, but few muscles in the room relaxed.

“Douchebag,” Dean muttered.

Sam, from where he stood, found he sorely agreed.

“Sam,” Cas asked, the proverbial gears in his mind beginning to turn. “When would we need to leave in order to reach the location?”

“The address he sent us is a few states over, so…sometime tonight?” he answered, quickly checking his watch.

“Alright. I’d like to spend the time we have honing Dean’s empathic abilities,” Castiel said, meeting eyes with the older Winchester. “We need to know as much as possible of what you can do, grace veiled as well as unveiled. We've been fortunate in that you seem to be exhibiting such high amounts of control. We need to keep it that way."

“Sounds good to me,” Dean nodded, finding little apprehension greeting him at the thought.

It was time to get to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teasers for what's next: we get some fluff, and then the boys hit the road - but what they signed up for isn't exactly what they get.
> 
> Stay tuned!  
> I'll see you all next time!


	9. From The Passenger Seat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Here's today's update! Second one in four days, a little earlier than normal, but I decided to go for it. Hope you like this one- things are definitely going places from here.
> 
> This time's song recs are...after very brief consideration in the past minute or so...Walker by Fitz And The Tantrums (which you've probably heard at at least one point in past handful of years, but is still worth a legitimate revisit and vibe session), and No One Like You by Scorpions, because why not. Also, bonus: I know this song is lowkey a meme, but [I Just] Died In Your Arms by Cutting Crew is genuinely good music, and therefore also worth a good listen.
> 
> Enough about music, though- here's your chapter! I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Leave me a comment if you have any thoughts!

Dean had spent hours absorbed in Cas’s energies, his eyes closed as he read and then attempted to somehow redirect every wavelength sent his way. It had taken some time before he’d gotten the hang of the basics, but once he began to show proficiency, he’d been made to reactivate angel-incognito mode, and work under the stipulation of stealth.

Eventually, Castiel leaned back with a slight puff, releasing the focus on his grace and running the side of his hand over his forehead. “You’re doing well,” he told Dean, the praise genuine as they both moved to stand. “I know this is no simple amount to understand so soon, but your progress thus far has been notable. You’re able to respond in at least minimal capacity to any set of vibrations you can detect.”

Dean nodded with a slight grunt, rolling his shoulders and letting the sweat on his forehead dissolve. He focused on his body, taking a moment to relinquish himself to the ripple of grace beneath his skin, and every particle that rose to meet him as he allowed his defenses to fall.

The other angel felt himself relax in response, savoring the feeling while it lasted.

“How are you feeling, Dean?” Cas murmured. _Be honest,_ he asked silently.

The hunter blinked and looked up at him, his eyes cast with an emotion of conflict – of wanting peace, but not being sure how to find it. “I’m…I’m getting stronger, for you and Sammy,” he said, his tone hesitant, but wanting as he tried to find an answer. “That’s all I can do, right? Need this, for reasons other than the fact that I _am_ this?”

Cas's face softened, not having expected Dean to voice his thoughts with transparency. Without his walls first, and emotions second.

Dean turned away, clearly feeling the same about himself. “Guess that’s another thing that’s different, huh,” he said, the words only just audible.

Cas rested a hand on his arm. “A good different.”

“Yeah?” he breathed. A single word, but a measure of hope.

It was returned with a gentle smile. “Yeah.”

Cas held Dean’s eyes with his own, and kept him afloat with only a look – a look bearing such depth that it was as though he were raising the lost soul from perdition all over again, and promising to never let go.

Dean felt the reassurance of a halo’s soft thrum, and found himself leaning in, drawing Cas close and wrapping his arms around the anchor he knew he needed most. “Thank you, Cas,” he spoke fiercely, barely above a whisper. “I- I couldn’t do this without you.”

Cas let himself melt into the bend of Dean’s shoulder, sparing the space to murmur back. “And you will never have to.”

From within the warmth of their embrace, the seraph’s eyes glowed, and feathers slowly rose from his back to lean in, folding over them both.

And for a moment, just a moment – neither of them could want for anything more.

oOo

Sam looked up when footsteps approached the garage, a bag in his hands resembling the one slung over his brother’s shoulder as Dean and Cas came into view.

“We ready to go?” Dean asked, opening up the trunk to stow their gear and momentarily savoring the feel of the Impala’s smooth metal creaking beneath his fingertips. He let his senses pulse through the engine and surrounding components, finding a contented purr of the dormant motors return his warm probe and a smile that rose to his face. Baby certainly was, as always, he thought fondly.

“Yeah,” Sam said, walking around the car, and then hesitating before sliding into his usual spot. “Hey, Cas,” he began, looking over the car’s roof to where the angel was standing a few feet away. “You want shotgun?”

Castiel looked up in surprise, but nodded, stepping over to the passenger door and sitting down inside.

Dean joined him a moment later, their belongings secured, and settled himself against the leather, taking a breath and glancing at the seats behind him. “You good, Sammy?” he asked.

“Just gonna catch some shuteye,” the younger Winchester replied, shifting over the well-loved curve of the interior wall until he was comfortable. “Wake me up if you want to trade off.”

The corner of the seraph’s mouth lifted in acknowledgment, and he began to press his keys into the ignition. Castiel, however, gently cleared his throat, and the motion briefly halted.

“It may be wise to veil your grace before we leave, Dean,” Cas told him.

“…right,” Dean said, the reminder catching him off guard. He swallowed, and then bowed his head, brows meeting in concentration as he took hold of and enveloped himself in the sensation of defense. After about a minute, it was done, and the hunter blinked, eyes drifting to where his fingers held the steering wheel. “That cover it, Cas?”

The former soldier nodded. “Yes.”

“Then I guess it’s time to get this show on the road.”

Dean turned the keys and started to pump the gas, Baby’s tires revving against the cement with a buttery, vivid crackle somehow more electrifying than it’d ever been. The night sky’s draw whispered of promise in his ear, and as he pulled out and began to drive, it was like the car was just as much a part of him as all the rest.

This was everything he needed, Dean thought, sparing a smile to his right.

The open road,

The warmth in his chest…

And the comfort of the angel in the passenger seat.

oOo

They drove through the night, the hum in Dean’s core filling him up and making the weight of the world seem far away. It was like nothing had changed in a matter of days, turning what he saw in the mirror on its head. Like if he could feel all this, then nothing could be wrong at all.

As the miles went by, he told stories, making Cas laugh beneath the twinkle of the stars and embarrassing the hell out of Sam until his brother woke up. Sometime after the sun rose, they made a quick stop to refuel and continued on, Cas offering the front seat back but ultimately getting to keep it.

Eventually, they began to approach the area, and Dean eased on the gas, advancing slowly and taking in their surroundings.

“You seein’ anything that shouldn’t be here?” he asked the entity at his right, tentatively extending his senses just beyond the car’s exterior.

“No, I don’t believe so,” the other angel said, his eyes narrowed.

Dean pulled to a stop beneath a tree in a mostly empty lot, situating themselves a few hundred feet from the location. “This is it?” he questioned in surprise, looking up at what appeared to be a large office building, the exterior freshly painted.

Sam exhaled. “Not suspicious at all,” he remarked dryly.

“...I'll go check it out,” the older Winchester said, stepping out of the car and closing the door as he turned. “You two keep a lookout from here.”

Sam stood up as well, frowning with an ebb of concern that trickled through his brother’s filtered awareness. “You sure, Dean?” he asked, his eyes just as open as the rest of him.

“I’ll be fine,” Dean told him, hesitating, but then nudging him once in the shoulder for reassurance. “Crowley tries anything…I promise, he’s not going to get far.”

Sam swallowed, nodding. “Okay. Be careful.”

“Always am, Sammy,” Dean said over his shoulder, beginning the walk down the road. “I always am.”

oOo

Dean approached the building and stepped through the doors, thankful to find that there wasn’t any hoodoo on them that would’ve thrown his ass back to Lebanon. Would regular angel warding affect him? He frowned. He’d have to test that later.

He swept his eyes back and forth across what appeared to be the building’s lobby, spotting no one except a woman sitting behind a desk at the floor’s center. He decided to try his luck, putting his hands in his pockets and walking over towards her.

“Hey, uh…Meena,” he began, drawing her attention and reading the nametag pinned over her blouse. “Sorry to bother you, but I’ve got this address - for a meeting at seven, only I don’t have a- well, a room, or anything like that. You wouldn’t happen to be able to point me in the right direction, would you?”

She looked him over once, her gaze sharp and appearing to stop just above where the demon knife rested inside his jacket. She squinted slightly and then stood, her expression remaining otherwise even as she walked out from behind the desk. “Follow me,” she said, leading him up a set of stairs, and eventually stopping a few feet from one of the conference sections.

“Thanks,” Dean told her, taking a moment before giving her a grin. “Wish me luck, huh?”

Her eyes narrowed along with a twitch in her lips, an unspoken sentiment levied and withheld all at once. “Good luck,” she said, her tongue digging into each syllable like a hook before she turned away and left him be.

Whoever he was, if he was here for that meeting, then she wanted nothing to do with him.

oOo

Dean inhaled and set his hand on the doorknob before twisting it open, only to wish he’d thought to scan the room before he entered. He had to catch himself practically mid-step, taking in what appeared to be a dozen demons gathered together, and the way his heart pounded as their twisted auras permeated his vision forced a quiver above his knees. He was thrust back to the time in hell when this was very nearly what he’d become. All these years later, he understood.

And it damn near stole the breath from his lungs.

“Ah, Winchester,” Crowley greeted smoothly from the table’s head, walking over to invite him in. “Are your brother and company on their way?”

“We need to talk,” Dean said gruffly, holding the door open and pulling himself together. His mouth spoke the words “you mind?”, but with his piercing gaze, he made it clear he wasn’t asking.

Crowley turned toward his assembly, tilting his head slightly in an acknowledgement. “I’ll be a moment,” he murmured to them, following Dean into the hallway. “Yes?” he asked, with only a slight touch of patience. "I'm very busy, you know. My attention belongs to many, nowadays, not only to you."

“What the hell am I looking at in there, huh?” the hunter began, ignoring the comments, and wasting few moments as he forced his nerves to calm. “Really, Crowley? A room full of demons?”

“So?” the king of hell answered, largely unfazed. “Hardly an oddity in your line of work.”

“You made this sound like some sketchy one-on-one sort of deal, not a full-on, wannabe-Wolf of Wall Street business meeting.” The guarded seraph reached reflexively for the vibrations in the air in front of him, his grace silently reading whatever it could to give him an advantage. “We didn’t sign up for this crap, or drive all the way out here to be your muscle if things go sideways.”

Crowley lifted an eyebrow, surprised that the Winchester had been able to identify his intentions exactly, and Dean was forced to hide a wince, and remind himself that there were things he wasn’t supposed to be able to guess.

“...you know what?” the hunter said, smiling darkly. “You want muscle?” He crossed his arms, letting the clout of his biceps press against the fabric of his jacket. “Fine. Anyone so much as moves in a direction we don’t like, we stick a knife in it. Got it?”

“Yes, yes, _mother,”_ Crowley replied dryly, eyes rolling with an air of imitative petulance. “We’ll behave. We’re demons, not savages. There’s no need to be so rude.” A hint of a grimace pulled at the corners of his vessel’s mouth, and Dean suppressed the urge to roll his eyes right back.

“Guess I’ll go get Sam,” he said, glancing once more into the room and sweeping it over, before turning to head back down the stairs.

Whatever he’d just been roped into, he knew one thing for certain.

It was going to be a long evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course Crowley would pull something like this, smh.
> 
> Teaser material for next time: tempers rise, only not for long? But when things boil over, eyes will burn. Stay tuned!
> 
> Thank you all so so much for all your support and encouragement.
> 
> See you next time!


	10. Prom Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Hell's business room, part two. Get that dramatic soundtrack ready. Also, holy heck! 20k!
> 
> This time's music recs are My Way by Frank Sinatra, and Won't Be Long by Aretha Franklin. Today's a day for the better vibes, so here you go.  
> :)
> 
> Wow, I think this is the first chapter summary in a long time where I haven't felt like writing a whole essay. Who knew I was capable?
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a btw- my text chunks aren't super massive in between breaks, so if you're the kind of person who prefers paragraphs to seem less thin, the chapters might read better if you set your screen to vertical. General suggestion for any of you to whom that applies.

“Sorry, uh, you said this was a _what?”_ Sam asked, he and Cas following Dean back towards the building.

“A bunch of demons in suits, ready to negotiate like they’re DiCaprio on the big screen,” Dean deadpanned, his fists tight in the fabric of his jacket. “Armed up to here, and less than a majority interested in working things out the easy way.”

“You read them?” Castiel asked, sidestepping slightly to avoid crushing a patch of clover.

“Yeah, on my way out. Not an easy bunch, believe me.” He hesitated to continue, but kept his gaze ahead, counting off the distance left until they reached the lobby’s entrance. “I recognized a few, from my time in the pit, way back when,” he admitted, still trying to shake the freshened visions from his mind. “Friends of Alastair, and company. Probably took over his gig running the rack once Sammy here fried him up for good.”

“Wait, you- you _recognized_ them?” the younger Winchester asked, halting in his stride a scant fifty feet from their destination. “How?”

Dean looked away, his jaw set, and after a moment, Castiel’s grace twisted in understanding. “Dean has angelic sight,” he said, not a question but a fact. “Even on the plane of the living, he can see the taint of hell, how it has twisted what were once innocent souls.”

Sam’s face dropped in realization.

“Dean, I-”

“Save it,” Dean said, cutting him off, and turning once more towards the doors. “We’re here to be Crowley’s muscle. As far as they know, I can’t tell them from a rat’s ass, end of story.”

There was a short beat of silence, and then Cas changed the subject, allowing Dean whatever sense of reprieve he could offer. “While you were inside, did you encounter any warding that affected you?” he asked, keeping up as they resumed their pace.

“Angel repellant? No, nothin' that got on my nerves more than just gave me the creeps,” Dean told him, shaking his head. “I probably could’ve told you where half of it was and then slashed the sigils down the middle myself.”

“That’s good,” Castiel said, glad that Dean at least didn’t have to deal with that discomfort. The trenchcoated angel braced himself as they entered at last, and the glass entryway parted into the lobby, which now appeared to be empty.

In lieu of Meena, Dean led the three of them up the stairs himself, following the path he’d been taken down the corridor and stopping outside the second conference room of four.

“Here goes,” he muttered to himself, pushing open the door and ignoring the chill of freshly renewed angel wards. Nothing to banish, he noted, thankfully. Just the mild discomfort of not being able to hide from sight outside his veils, his grace told him.

Not that he knew if he could do that, anyway.

“Ah, moose and angel arrive at last,” the witch’s son said, welcoming them with a flick of his fingers. “Would you care to sit?” At his will, three chairs pulled out from beneath the mahogany wood, and set themselves in the open space to his left.

“No thanks,” Dean said flatly, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. “We’re good.”

“Suit yourself,” Crowley told him with a shrug, what was required of him as a host more than fulfilled.

“In any case, now that the last of our attendees are present...” the demon began, turning to address the assembly in front of him. “I’m sure you’re all wondering why you’ve been called here, away from your...no doubt, pressing, business affairs.”

“Because we have a leader who has found himself fully incapable of managing the matters over which he claims to preside?” a woman supplied, her posture one of disinterest beneath the rich red of her blazer’s fit.

Crowley’s eyes narrowed, a silent warning levied and met with the same indifference. “No,” he said, clearing his throat, her gaze eventually leaving him. “We are here, because over the past few relative centuries, the lines between the territories in hell have become...shall we say, blurred,” he punctuated, “and it’s well beyond time that we agreed on a set of conditions for operation. Nothing restricting, I promise. Just something in the interest of restoring, for lack of a better term, what we find to be a long lost sense of clarity.”

“This isn’t the _crossroads,_ Crowley, in case you’ve forgotten,” another demon spoke up, his voice distasteful and near sour with pride, in stark contrast to a vessel with the looks of a virgin accountant hastily fitted into a borrowed suit. “This is neither that, nor a simple gathering of lower class workers who possess fewer independent thoughts than they do any capacity for self-respect. This is the court of Lucifer’s domain. You wish for _clarity?_ I needn’t your permission, nor your order, _your majesty,”_ he all but oozed, every syllable making his lack of the loyalty he deemed misguided that much clearer. “And I certainly needn’t the stifling oversight of a salesman who fancies himself the king.”

Crowley met his eyes, and leaned forward, slowly spreading his hands over the table’s surface and letting a modicum of force crackle outwards from his fingers. “Now you listen here, Magnessun,” he said, his tone dangerous and low. “Because I’m only going to say this once.”

He began to speak, and from where he stood, Dean could feel the tension in the air beginning to thicken, almost able to see the other demon’s aura itching to draw their blade. This had the potential to get ugly, and fast, he realized, if the simmering ires continued to grow. He didn’t know if he could handle this kind of fight.

But then, when it looked like he didn’t have any options, he remembered.

He might be able to do something about this, couldn’t he?

The seraph made sure no one in a meatsuit was watching, and then he closed his eyes, feigning an expression of boredom when in truth he was simply allowing himself to focus. He reached out for the stewing vexation that stood at Crowley’s opposite, and after a few tries, he willed it beneath his fold, convincing it to relax as he took it in his hands and watched the anger’s charge begin to diffuse. _That’s it,_ he thought, a slight smile rising to the corner of his mouth. _All the fight right out of you._ He waited until the muddy fires had cleared enough, and then drew himself back to the present, blinking to find Cas shooting him a glance from the corner of his vision. _What did you do?_ Castiel’s expression read, equal parts concerned and curious.

 _“Just watch,”_ Dean mouthed, tipping his head subtly toward the table.

It would seem that in the meantime, Crowley had touched on a few contentions.

“And when I say ‘torture’...I mean torture the likes of which has sent even the most powerful of ginger whores running for their covens in fear,” he spoke as Dean tuned back in, voice still controlled, but deeply saturated in threat and the means to back it up. “So should you wish the head of that weaselly little vessel of yours to remain attached to its shoulders...I would think twice, the next time you decide to speak such blatant dissidance against the one that controls all you possess. Are we clear?”

Magnessun appeared slightly dazed as he looked up at his king, but after processing the question, he nodded, settling himself to resume sitting quietly.

Crowley seemed briefly disoriented by the sudden lack of aggression, and he squinted slightly, turning his head and leaning in. “Are we clear?” he asked again, punctuating more slowly.

“Yes, your majesty,” Magnessun replied, an undercurrent of surprise to his tone as though his answer had been a given. “We’re clear.” The demon returned to his attentive position, and Crowley simply looked at him, at a loss for what this was.

“...alright, then,” the leader said eventually, face still pinched with bewilderment until he blinked in an effort to clear it.

The other demons at the table seemed just as perplexed, but the meeting continued, the hashing out of property claims appearing to the first item on the agenda.

Dean had to stifle a laugh.

The way things were going, it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

oOo

Crowley only grew more and more discomfited as the negotiations went on, finding so few difficulties or outbursts of pushback to be lasting that he couldn't help but wonder if this was some sort of pre-planned psychological torment. _This is the problem with working with demons,_ he thought to himself, struggling to maintain a sense of control. _Civility is too good to be true._

Meanwhile, Sam largely wasn’t sure what was happening either, but he recognized focus and just barely concealed satisfaction in the other hunter’s sharpening gaze, and Castiel (who stood in between them), appeared to be biting his lip intermittently in order to prevent himself from giving something away. _Really, Dean?_ he thought, meeting his brother’s eyes. _Messing with the demons?_

One corner of Dean’s lips fought its way in the direction of his ear, driven by perhaps a small measure of enjoyment. _Just enjoy the show, Sammy,_ his face said, grinning unabashedly before making his expression level out. To hell if what he was doing wasn’t human, he found himself brave enough to think, scanning the room and keeping an eye on the auras in front of him. This was some of the most productive, almost meaningful fun he’d had in years.

So with that in mind, he continued his work as a silent mitigator, devoting most of his attention to those who he’d found were more likely to go off and doing whatever he could to keep them in check. That, admittedly, wasn’t much, but even small strokes of paint can be enough to subdue and obscure as they build, creating a lid to cover what lies beneath.

However, his awareness slipped from the attendees who remained- a mistake he came to realize eventually...but perhaps not soon enough.

It happened in what seemed like a split second. A spilling of red from the corner of his vision as a hand reached for the hilt of a knife, dark blooms of malice seeming to come from nowhere. Their mind had been guarded, somehow, and it was something the newly reborn seraph had yet to learn to recognize. They’d sat back, waiting for the moment to strike.

Now, it would appear they’d found it.

Dean froze, and his eyes went wide, reaching out for a desperate burst of force that came too late for the blade to retract from the air. He heard the hiss of metal puncturing flesh, and felt the demon who’d been targeted die, a soul-turned-smoke choking on what gave it life until the writhing shadows were no more.

The provocation saw all the others freed from the bonds of silent angelic suppression, and the rise in heat was too much at once for Dean to even hope to de escalate. “Sam! Get down!” he barked, pressing his brother and himself against the ground as the air began to fill with the flight of weapons, with spellwork and the hum of demonic power. He’d nearly frozen, the sensations all too much, but his grace recognized his need and blocked it all out, pushing him away from the brink of losing control. _Focus,_ the steady pulse seemed to tell him. _Just focus._

Castiel fended off a woman who vaulted over the table, and provided enough cover for his allies to stand and draw weapons of their own. Dean pressed the knife into Sam’s hand and began to fire salt rounds, taking aim and pulling the trigger as quickly as he could, and he glanced up at Crowley, who managed to slit one offender’s throat with his stolen angel blade before turning to give the Winchester a dirty look. _“Some muscle,”_ he mouthed, before the next assailant came calling, forcing him to retaliate.

There were ten demons left in the room, but it felt like more, no doubt magic in some form or another to blame. One was successfully killed, and then another, but Dean began to realize reinforcements had been called from hell - two teleporting in for every one that met defeat. He fended them off the best he could, feeling a slight prick every time a portal opened and someone exited the invisible walls, but however he parried and struck, the numbers didn’t seem to thin. Keeping Sam safe was his priority, he told himself, he and his awareness not leaving his brother’s side.

But then he looked across the room, and he wavered, in the moment he saw Castiel backed into a corner by more assailants than he could handle.

And that moment was enough, for a blade to find Dean's chest, going in from the front just above his heart.

The room stilled.

Everyone, despite being mid-fight, seemed to stop, breaths catching in anticipation as they watched the body that would no doubt, at long last fall to the ground in front of them. Sam’s eyes were wide, his body unable to find the path to move, and everything was silent, save for the pooling of blood, and carved skin dragging against serrations of iron.

Dean looked down at the demon whose hands still clutched the buried hilt, their face a twisted mix of shock and elation. But it shifted to confusion, when the human eyes that should’ve gone lifeless, only hardened at them in anger.

“Sorry, pal,” the hunter growled slowly, gripping the wooden handle and drawing it from his flesh. He wrenched away the demon's arm, stance solid, despite a growing wave of disbelief from all corners of the room.

“That doesn't work on me anymore.”

The seraph felt his grace’s burn, and he brought the molten glow to the surface, letting it sear the wound in his chest to a close before flooding the palm of his hand. Instinct took over, the angel and his power one, and so there was a gasp, and then there was nothing, nothing except Dean’s grip coming down against the vessel’s forehead; and a release of heat, of a deafening, otherworldly blaze that swept the reaches of black with a piercing light so strong that no living entity could have resisted it.

When it was over, the body fell against him, unconscious, but breathing. Only human.

Every demon in the room was frozen.

“Unless you want what just happened to this guy, to happen to you,” Dean spoke slowly, his voice nearly rumbling with threat and his searing irises trained directly on the would-be attackers surrounding Cas, “I’d get the hell away from here. _Now.”_

What was left of the shareholders and their reinforcements could feel the energy pulsing from where the angelic being stood, and they raised their hands, taking the hint and resigning to teleport away. The seraph could sense the invisible portals they opened, the gateways into hell, and only once they were gone did he let the grace in his eyes fade away.

“You alright?” he asked, turning to Sam, but not before making sure he looked at Cas. Neither seemed to be in any lasting pain, he noted, his empathic abilities largely undampened and responding to his thoughts just as swiftly as they came to him.

“Yeah,” Sam said, looking down at the bodies near his feet and then the stains on the blade in his hands. “Cas?”

“I’m fine,” the other angel said, grace briefly flashing from behind the blue of his vessel’s irises as a response to Dean’s subconscious, worrying probes.

Only then did the three of them turn to look at Crowley, who was still standing - blood smudged on the side of his face, just over a jaw that was partly slack.

“You- I didn’t see-” he began, trying, but effectively failing to reassert his tenuous grasp over composure. “Y-you’re an angel’s true vessel," he stated, his mind unable to process the logic. "But...no one is inhabiting your body but you,” he continued. “Which means...”

“Go ahead,” Dean said, crossing his arms, and letting the runes in his back hum with power. “You wanna take a guess, big guy?”

“Dean Winchester...is…” Crowley was forced to clear his throat midsentence, shaking his head in an effort to fight against the sheer madness of the very idea. “No, explain this to me,” he asked, refusing to simply roll over. “Somehow, since last we spoke on the matter, you’ve obtained the raw powers of an _archangel._ Is this...is this meant to be God’s idea of a sadistic _joke?_ Since when is Dean, _bloody Winchester,_ an _angelic being?”_

Characteristically quickly, the line of questioning had all but descended into a series of yells, and no one had even needed to nudge him.

Well, since, uh...” Dean answered, glancing over at Cas, a twitch of humor pulling at the corner of his lips. “Since just about always, apparently.” He drew the moment and closed his eyes, aware of Crowley’s focus, and he restored his walls, taking his sweet time before once again veiling his grace from perception. “You like that, huh?” he said, a grin doubling as a smirk on his face when he saw just how horribly the demon was now disoriented. “Angel-incognito mode. Little trick comes in handy when dealing with douchebags like you.”

“That’s not possible,” the king of hell said quietly, his throat caught and the rest of him just as shaken. “You- I can feel your soul. Angels, they-” He cut himself off, swallowing and trying again. “Souls aren’t part of the package.”

Dean shrugged, his expression the very picture of innocence. “I don’t know what to tell you, Crowley. Maybe you’re just...out of your league, on this one.” The seraph pursed his lips sympathetically, reaching out to pat the salesman on the shoulder, and savoring the way he flinched.

“You know…” Sam spoke up, having just led the cured vessel from the room and deciding to contribute while Crowley was still all but speechless. “All that stuff that was happening in your meeting? Those demons, practically ready to gut you one second, and then sitting back and agreeing to work things out the next? I think you owe someone a thank you.” He let his eyes shift to his brother, and Crowley’s jaw only wished to sink further.

“For all the hellish...utterly _inane,_ things, you lot force me to deal with…” the witch’s son muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m sure this must be very amusing for you,” he said dryly, finally resigning himself to whatever dignity this conversation had left him with. “You’ve had your fun, your little...coming-out party, Angel Winchester. Certainly a bit of a shock, but I’ll manage.” He dusted off the shoulders of his suit, frowning slightly at a tear in the seam and making a mental note to get it tailored later. “But why now?” he asked, sharp gaze no longer wavering as he met that of Dean’s. “Why come forward during a fight so trivial as this one?”

There was a moment of silence, and then Castiel cleared his throat, choosing his words carefully. “Our awareness of Dean’s angelic nature is...knowledge...we only came to acquire recently,” he said. The soldier of heaven, however, sobered fully, erasing any hesitance from his tone as he stepped forward. "However, I would warn you, Crowley,” he spoke, his voice lowering, “that should this information at all spread, it will be your head for whom not one, but two angels are assured to come.”

“...ah,” Crowley replied, his typical lilt shortened as he soaked up the threat’s implications. “And this is where I’m assigned cleanup duty.”

“If that is what you wish to call it, yes. I, for one, advise that you hurry," Cas said, glancing once at Dean, "Those who survived here will no doubt have found themselves with questions.”

“Don’t worry your pretty little feathers about it,” Crowley told him, and then gave Dean a pointed look as well, with a hint of a self-satisfied smirk.

“No one would ever believe Dean Winchester was secretly an angel of the lord.”

As soon the verbal full stop fell, he was gone, an ambient farewell without care drifting over the empty walls.

The three who remained looked around at the office room that had been all but torn apart, one window (or perhaps more) having broken over the cars in the building’s parking lot.

Let’s get out of here,” Sam said, looking down at where the empty bodies had been before Crowley had taken them with him in his exit. He sighed.

At least they didn’t park nearby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teaser material for next time: angelic upkeep, we get to see more of Sam, and...beware of an upcoming ciffhanger. The next plot point was only meant to be one chapter, but ended up turning into two. Whoops.
> 
> See you guys there!! Stay tuned, and feel free to leave a comment if you have any thoughts!


	11. Brothers And Banishing Sigils, Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! What a _whirlwind_ this past week as been, in fandom and out of fandom. I could write a whole essay that's purely constructed of tears and crowing in the glory of emotional victory, but...maybe another time. (If you do want to scream about it, though, feel free to leave a comment). (AFTER TWELVE, LONG YEARS-)
> 
> This week's song recs are...some of the top emotional heavy hitters I have, because let's be real, we've all been listening to sad music and thinking destiel. (Don't even try to deny it. I'm right there with you). The list includes: Dancing With Your Ghost by Sasha Sloan, Oceans by Seafret, and the very best emotional song I can and have ever recommended, Let's Hurt Tonight by Onerepublic. Enjoy. 
> 
> Aren't you guys glad I've been occupied with this story, and not writing painful 15x18 codas? (Nep, buddy, I'm looking at you).
> 
> In any case, here we go! The much anticipated cliffhanger I promised, and some brotherly action to precede it.  
> Let me know what you think!  
> :)

It was morning, about a day after they'd gotten back from that office building, and Sam stretched, finger-combing his hair as he left his room and headed down into the main area of the Bunker. He knew he was technically the only one who needed his batteries regularly recharged anymore, but the angels he lived with still tended to stay in their rooms until later than he did, so he expected to find himself alone.

As he turned the corner towards their researching area, however, what greeted him was far from an empty room.

Sunlight faintly suffused the air, and Dean was sitting over the edge of one of the tables on the right, the breadth of his wings stretched wide and out in the open. He appeared to be focused on running his hands through a band of feathers, but he looked up as his brother entered, plumage subconsciously twitching in greeting. "Morning, sunshine," the seraph said, pushing out a chair with one foot and waving in the direction of the coffee maker. "There's a fresh pot on, if you want some."

Sam nodded vaguely, and wiped the sleeve of his sleep shirt over his eyes as he walked over to fill a mug. He moved to the offered chair, and sat down with a sigh, nursing the warm beverage in his hands.

"What are you doing?" the younger Winchester asked, watching the vanes shift beneath his brother's fingers, how they moved with the sharpness of concentration in his gaze.

"Apparently these things aren't no-maintenance," Dean told him, squinting when a feather tugged away into the palm of his hand before he folded it into a tight pile along with a few others. “Woulda stayed in my room, but...walls aren’t wide enough to really move, in there. Next best place was down here. Sparring room gets damn cold in the mornings.”

“Mm,” Sam hummed in understanding.

They sat in relative silence, allowing the thrum of grace to gently saturate the air.

“You know...,” Sam remarked after some time, a thought occurring to him. “I never thought I’d see Dean, wipe-it-on-your-jeans-Winchester picking up after himself.”

“Dude,” the other hunter responded, somewhat defensively, as another stray feather’s shaft slipped out from the rest. “according to Cas, these things are like toenail clippings, only from your _soul._ You wouldn’t leave those layin’ around, would you?”

Sam gave an expression that read “fair point,” and took another sip of his coffee.

Dean resumed grooming, and his hands moved gingerly through the twilight-hued down, the motions slightly awkward and yet coming together to form a sight that was simply _natural,_ in a way that somehow surpassed everything else. It was like watching Dean with kids, Sam thought warmly, one corner of his mouth rising at the comparison. Like how things had been with Ben and his mother, in the year the Righteous Man had almost gotten to have a family.

The air was clear, but the seraph seemed to briefly start, letting the wave of plumage fall back from his hands as he looked up at the other hunter. "What?" he asked, his brows moving slightly.

“I- nothing," Sam stammered briefly, swallowing, momentarily caught off guard by his brother's angelic perception. He saw Dean flinch, and his eyes softened in sympathy, regretting his reaction. "Sorry, still getting used to this," he said quietly, in aside. "But, no," he went on, clearing his throat. "You just…you seem like a natural, at this, that's all." He chuckled softly, and the gentleness of his smile was saturated by well-meaning and a subtle twinkle in his eye. "Like something in our lives finally came with the rulebook."

Dean looked at him for a moment, and a part of him wanted to laugh at the comment's absurdity, despite the rest of him almost longing to believe it was true. "Sam," he scoffed, his tone reserved. "This stuff? I-" he stopped, his fists balling in his lap, and the feathers at his side seemed to pull in closer. "I don't know the first thing, let alone the second thing, about _any_ of this. You know how it happened. Some of it's Cas, whatever he can tell me, and some of it…" He broke off, his brow furrowing, and then exhaled, evidently giving up on putting a train of thought into words. "There's instinct, but I...I try not to just, follow it, you know, without thinking about it,” he said slowly. “This…" he continued, motioning to a sheaf of feathers on his left, "keeping them healthy, or whatever, makes at least some kind of sense, seeing as they’re here to stay." He looked off into the air, and then felt his composure release into a half-chuckle, half-sigh of incredulity. "Frickin wings, man," he said out loud, barely able to wrap his mind around the idea. "I can’t tell you why in the _hell,_ but I have _wings."_

Sam shook his head, unable to help laughing along with him. There was a light beat of silence, and the younger Winchester opened his mouth again, hands folding around his mug. "...what's it like?" he asked, the question puffed on the tails of a breath. “Having them, I mean. Being...winged.”

Dean took a second to think. "Well, for one thing,” he huffed, somewhat resentfully, “it's like having that stupid hair of yours, only times twelve." As he said it, all six of the extra appendages rose from behind him, as if to make a point.

Sam laughed, but there was a reserved flicker of innocence in his eyes, silently begging for a real answer.

Dean sighed, looking at the vanes that lowered into his field of vision, and gave them a little shake, the smallest of smiles finding his face at the fact that he’d consciously moved them on his own. “It’s like...looking at yourself, living and breathing,” he said, his gaze softening. _Like you couldn’t be afraid even if you wanted to._

“The whole, grace-instead-of-a-soul thing, it bothered me at first,” Dean continued, blinking and allowing himself to parse through his thoughts out loud. “It did. I don’t want you to think it didn’t. But I...I’m not like you were, back in that year and a half when you were soulless, giving Dexter a run for his money,” he said, turning back to Sam, “and I’m not suddenly some God Squad douchebag, either. I still… _feel,_ everything I’m supposed to feel, you know? Maybe I’m wrong, and I _can’t_ actually trust myself, or maybe I have changed and I just can’t see it, or god knows what else. But I know that if I ever step out of line...I’ve got you and Cas to pull me back.”

“I think this could go a lot of ways, Dean,” Sam said, his face having become solemn as he listened. “But I know you, and I know that this power isn’t going to go to your head. I don’t want you to stop trusting in yourself, or start doubting your every move. You’re a seraph, whether you, or anyone else likes it or not. These angelic instincts are a part of you now. So...all you can do is use them for good.” He leaned back, sipping his coffee, and it was as though something in another plane shifted into parallel, allowing Dean to feel where this was coming from.

“Like...you did, when you had powers, huh,” the older brother said, realizing he understood, for the first time in years. “The demon blood was in _you,_ whether _you_ liked it or not.”

Sam looked up at him, vulnerable but consigned, and then returned his attention to his drink. “You were meant to be what you are, Dean,” he replied, after taking a long sip. “Neither of us had a choice, but just remember that _this…_ this comes from a place of good.”

He sighed, rubbing his forehead, and sanctioned a moment to just breathe.

“In any case…” he muttered, aware of the bags under his eyes, and possibly indulging his inner little sibling, just for a second. “You’re lucky you don’t have to sleep anymore. Trying to keep up with Cas when it was the two of us was bad enough. Now I have to match pace with you both.”

“Ha, don’t worry, Sammy,” Dean said, reaching over to clap him on the shoulder and allowing himself an air of levity. “I’m sure you’ll do fine. Worst case scenario, we'll have all the cases done by morning, and you won't have to lift a finger."

Sam gave him a wry look, and then returned to drinking the last of his coffee in peace, letting Dean resume his wing maintenance session without more than a little interruption.

Eventually, when every pair of otherworldly sails on his back had been attended to, the older Winchester let his feet drop to the floor, stretching out his arms and fanning out the newly preened feathers behind him as well.

Sam stiffened, just slightly, but forced himself to relax as Dean folded the sighing sheaves of down against his back.

It was then that the sound of footsteps filtered into the room, and the brothers turned towards the entryway, finding a familiar trenchcoated figure approaching where they respectively sat and stood.

"Hey, Cas," Dean said, plumage twitching between his shoulder blades. "Coffee?"

"No thank you, Dean," Cas told him, settling in his stance a few feet away. "Sam," he greeted, nodding briefly at the younger hunter. The angel turned back towards the other source of grace in the room, and the slightest of smiles brushed across his face. “I see you’ve groomed,” he commented, glancing at the shining feathers. “You’ve done a good job.”

“Thanks,” Dean mumbled, his chin briefly lowering to hide the disquieted flush in his cheeks that was matched by a tight ruffle amid a visible section of his vanes. “So, uh, anyway,” he said, clearing his throat and changing the subject. “What’s on today’s agenda? Sparring room, or do we have anywhere to be?”

“No jobs that I’ve found,” Sam said, speaking around a final sip from his mug. “Things seem quiet, however long that’ll last.”

“I’d like to spend the day continuing to search for any conclusive texts on Seraphims that the Men of Letters may have recovered in their time,” Cas told them, glancing at the older Winchester briefly. “I’ve been able to guide you thus far with inferences based largely on what I know of angelic history, but that knowledge is almost painfully limited. What few memories I seem to have are...scattered,” he admitted, his gaze slipping to the floor. “Likely a result of all the tampering that occurred over the centuries.”

“Hey,” Dean said, resting a firm hand on Cas’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. We’ve been lucky so far. For now, that’s enough.”

Cas’s lips pursed with uncertainty, but he nodded, exhaling in a silent gesture of trust.

“If you want to hit the books, though...” Dean continued, “then I’ve got something I’m going to need Sam’s help with.”

At this, the younger Winchester’s head rose, trying to parse his brother’s expression. “Like what?”

“Angel warding,” Dean told him, crossing his arms. “Banishing sigils, hoodoo like Crowley’s guys had on them, the whole nine yards. We need to know what it can do to me.”

Sam’s eyes widened, mouth immediately opening to levy an objection, but Dean cut him off with a look- the look that conveyed, _you know we need to do this,_ and _I’m trusting you here, so please trust me back._ “Come on, Sammy,” Dean said.

“I’ll meet you in the sparring room in ten.”

oOo

"You’re not listening," Sam was saying aloud, yet almost to himself, now having changed into flannel and jeans but still bearing a vague air of sleeplessness. "I don't think you understand what you're trying to do."

"What's there to think about, Sam?" Dean asked, his hands hovering by his hips and his wings returned to the inside of his back. "If this stuff can affect me, now that I'm all graced up, then we've got to know. End of story. We got lucky back in that meeting room, and you know it. Anyone could've tried anything."

"Dean," Sam told him, a twinge of desperation catching in his throat. "You've seen how painful it is for angels when banishing sigils hit them. And ever since the gates of heaven closed, we don't know where they go. For all we know, they could end up dead."

Dean was quiet for a moment, and his face somber.

"Draw the sigil, Sam," he said at last, the tone and decision final. "I'll turn on angel incognito mode, see if that gives me any kind of advantage. Cas should be far away enough in the library that he'll be okay."

Sam's face was tense with worry. He didn’t want to do it, and he didn't want to watch Dean go through it either. But...despite it all, he found he understood, even though he was scared of the risks. Dean not knowing what this could do to him made the potential vulnerability just another item in a long, long list of everything that weighed over his shoulders. So slowly, the younger Winchester pulled a knife from his pocket, and drew a resolute line across his palm. "Fight it if you have to, Dean," he said quietly, praying to whomever may have been watching. "I’m right here with you."

The seraph could feel every pocket of concern like bubbles permeating his mind, but his only response was to cast his veils, grunting slightly from the effort it required but finding the job to be solid enough.

The last lines were drawn on part of the wall, and a damp washcloth for erasure waited in the younger hunter's unbloodied hand.

"Ready?" Sam asked.

Dean nodded. "Do it."

The calloused skin fell and completed the spell's circuit, and for a moment, nothing happened.

That moment, however, was merely a gateway into the next.

With nearly no warning, Dean was thrown to a loss for breath, clutching the air just in front of his chest and stumbling over the space he occupied. There was a riptide of force, a ruthless current trying to sink its hooks into his core, and something inside him burned, like he was being razed where he stood. The spell couldn't get its grip on him, but the resistance only made it try that much harder. _Fight this,_ Sam's words echoed in his head, and the seraph bit his lip, staggering beneath the strength of the blinding light and vowing to do just that.

The pain was bracing, and it was in this that he knew sheer force of will on its own wouldn't get him anywhere, that his veils weren’t protecting him all the way like he’d hoped they would. So he clenched his teeth and pulled the barriers down, his wings emerging from the eye of the storm and flaring wide into the fray. The runes beneath them seared like coal against a wall of flames, but they cast themselves as an anchor, taking on for the first time their authority as an entity who shared an archangel’s fearsome rank. The warring pulses kept Dean locked amid their struggle, but nearly as soon as it had begun, it was over.

The light faded, and Dean gasped for breath, the jet-black feathers behind him beating as if in victory.

“Dean,” Sam exhaled, wiping his hand through the sigil’s remains. “Dean, are you okay?”

An attempt was made to respond, but somehow, the plug of a drain was all but pulled out from beneath him.

Sam rushed forward to catch the angel before he fell, and a couple vanes brushed his face amid the throes of the awkward maneuver, but they pulled to the side, willing to compromise given that Sam wasn’t a threat. “Dean, talk to me," he asked, his voice urgent.

The seraph was quickly falling to the fringes of consciousness in fatigue, and his cells were thrown from balance, anxious coils of grace coalescing back and forth between all the pieces of him now burned awry. “I...” he rasped, staring into nothing as the word left his mouth, and the slowly building agony began to saturate his body. “Just...get Cas.” He reached out and took his brother’s arm, giving a fading push. “Castiel. Please.” He winced from the effort, closed eyes too exhausted to tighten and throat too drained to cry out.

“Okay,” Sam said anxiously, resting Dean’s head against the mats that covered the floor as the fear mounted in his hands. “I’ll be right back. Just...hang on, Dean," he promised, not knowing if he could fix this.

“Just hang on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...so, on a scale of one to ten...how cruel was that?
> 
> (As far as teaser material goes, things are only going to get more emotionally and physically painful from here, I'm sorry).
> 
> Stay tuned.


	12. Brothers And Banishing Sigils, Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everybody! Finally, we remedy that cliffhanger.  
> I may or may not have been making changes up until...literally five minutes ago, but you know what, that's okay.  
> I know some of yall have been waiting for this. (Abs, Lia, Goose: this one's for you guys).
> 
> This week's song recs, are...the very first three I saw in my playlist, American Money by BØRNS, Imagination by Foster The People, and and Another Story by The Head And The Heart.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy.  
> :)

Sam ran from the room as quickly as he could, unable to get the sight of the catatonic angel - his _brother_ \- out of his mind. He began the path to the library, but found that within seconds, Cas’s footsteps were already racing towards him.

“What happened?” the trenchcoated angel demanded, barely halting in his pace as he rounded the hall. “Dean, I felt-”

“I couldn’t talk him out of it, Cas,” Sam told him, nearly breathless. “The banishing sigil. We tested it. He’s still here, but he- he told me to come get you.”

Blue eyes widened and narrowed all at once, but no time was wasted, Castiel turning the last corners toward the sparring room and lowering himself to Dean’s side.

“Dean,” he said, his palm already glowing with grace, and extending to hover over the seraph’s forehead. “Damnit, Dean, you need to wake up. Listen to me.” He inhaled deeply, and a small fragment of desperation took root beneath the command in his voice. _“Dean.”_

“I’m...I’m here, Cas,” the older Winchester breathed weakly, drawing on whatever he could muster to place his fingers around the other angel’s wrist. “You...your grace, it…” His head fell to the side, gravity’s pull on his neck and sighing eyelids appearing to be prevailing. “The warmth is making it better,” he whispered, the words somehow his and yet not his at all.

“Dean,” Sam said, bending down so he could take a knee at Cas’s right. “Can you tell us what happened?”

“I fought it, Sammy. My wings…” The feathers twitched, like he was making sure he could still feel them.

It was the first time he'd called them _his,_ Sam realized.

“It was his power alone that saved him,” Cas murmured, pulling the other hunter from his thoughts, and allowing more of the soft white hum to impart from where his fingers were held aloft. “His birthright, his command as a Seraphim in the strength he shares with an archangel, in combination with the fact that he knew it was coming.”

“Is he going to be okay? Is his grace-?” The younger Winchester asked, trying to keep his worry in check.

“He’s experienced something he should have known not to bring upon himself,” Castiel said, and his tone slightly hardened in assessment. “But I believe what he needs foremost is time to heal. We can only hope that he will not need care we cannot provide.” He began to lift Dean’s body from the ground, aiding the pained, exhausted form in the effort to keep its stance. The vast wings folded in against one another, trying to direct what strength they had available closer to their center, and a slight pulse could be felt in the space they compressed. "Follow me, Dean," Cas told him gently, carefully leading him towards the door. "We're going to move for a bit, but then you'll be able to rest."

Dean nodded half-consciously, eyes closing and weight leaning into his arm, but then his eyelashes danced, the faintest of syllables falling from his lips. Sam didn't hear it from where he'd just risen to his feet, but the lord's former angel stiffened, clearly disquieted.

"What is it, Cas?" Sam asked, stepping forward, but then hesitating and staying back.

"...I don't...Dean?" He turned to the weakened bundle at his side. "Can you repeat that?"

 _"Gohulim...christeos luciftias…"_ the words came, just barely louder, not appearing to register in their speaker's worn expression. His throat then closed and head sank, what last reserves of energy he had left burning out.

Castiel was a shade paler.

"It's enochian," he whispered. "It's enochian, for, 'it is said, let there be brightness'. An old omen, spoken near the beginning of time after the Darkness was banished."

"...Dean doesn't know enochian," Sam said, his stomach twisting, as if inviting fate.

"He does now." Cas spoke quietly, in a mix of wonder and worry, and the proverbial coffin's nail was irrevocably driven into place. "I'll take him to his room," he said, placing his free hand around the pressed vanes against the brace of Dean's shoulders. "Perhaps I'll be able to continue helping him heal."

"Thanks, Cas," Sam murmured, and he watched them leave, eyes brushing the bands of feathers that covered the seraphim's back.

It was only hours later that he realized the notion of "seraphim”, had nearly overtaken the title of his brother.

oOo

Sam had been able to feel himself ready to grow lost in his thoughts, and so left the empty sparring room behind, closing the door and wishing the light source coming in from the windows was one he could turn off. Cas’s slow footsteps along with those of the angel he was supporting had already receded in the direction of Dean’s bedroom, and as much as he wanted to help, the lone human was painfully aware that his presence wasn’t what Dean needed right now.

“Do seraphs all know enochian?” he murmured to himself, the thought fleeting, but then decided that it was a question he should try to answer. Cas was busy now, after all, so maybe he could get a jump on digging into the lore himself. At least then he'd be doing something of use.

He passed the kitchen and entered the library, finding a stack of texts in various states of aging spread across one of the tables nearest to the wall. It would appear that in whatever time he’d had to begin, Castiel had been able to find a place to start.

“‘Ceph ipamis’,” Sam read aloud, holding up a piece of card with what appeared to be angelic runes, and phonetic scratches of English and Latin scrawled beneath. “Translates to…’they cannot be’. Huh,” he huffed slightly, pulling out a chair and sliding over the volumes nearest to him.

The time began to pass, and his hands reached for whatever they could translate, pages turning as searching eyes read everything from proposed Men of Letters research to psychoanalytical biblical ravings. Truly little was known conclusively about the Seraphim, it would seem, but no one could decide on why. Michael’s crypts appeared to be ambiguous in location, and while some hypothesized that they had been enchanted to move and hide themselves with each generation of new destined seraphim born, others believed it was a curse, dark magic meant to pervert heaven's last defense. But in spite of just how much information there was to look through, the hunter’s thoughts fought for precedence over the dive of research, inevitably circling back to Dean upon every new piece of information absorbed.

Because...there had always been...something, the younger Winchester thought, something he could say he knew definitively, despite the twist in his gut. Something he’d known about Dean since they were kids, like a mark of light on his soul that never failed to find a way through despite everything they were forced to endure. But now, it was as though whatever that had been all this time...he could _feel_ it, its whispers filling the air wherever his brother stood. Wherever his otherworldly, twilight wings brushed their surroundings with a soothing hum, somehow guiding those around them to a sense of something ethereal hidden in the outermost reaches of leaf-green eyes. It was...aweing. It made Sam’s eyes widen every time he could process it, every time he felt he could nearly _see_ the grace coalescing, shifting, weaving over and beneath the hazy stretches of the skin to which it now granted life.

But...it was _Dean._

Dean, who had been thrust into evolving in this way, without knowing what was meant to happen to him. Dean, who had never been sure how to confront his emotions, who wasn’t this powerful, heavenly being.

Except now he was.

And Sam...he thought back to the way he first reacted, when he’d thought his father’s other son was hiding something, wasn’t eating for reasons he wouldn’t disclose and might be suffering from ghost sickness. How, when he’d woken up to find a face completely healed of cuts acquired the night before, and when given no explanation he could understand, had asked, _“what are you?”_

Had said he couldn't be human.

Dean’s face had fallen in fear for lack of an answer, and he’d never been more vulnerable than in the moments after Cas confirmed it.

But with everything that happened after, Sam had never gotten the chance to explain.

Those words had come out in anger, but they’d begun - just like they always began - in a place of worry. In a place of fear. Fear that his brother might’ve made a deal, that he might’ve gotten himself into something he couldn’t get out of, and that what if it was too late for them to fix it? That what if they couldn’t find a way, like they always did, to somehow prevail over the darkness they faced at every corner? He was afraid that he’d been lied to, again, and that his protection had once again come at the cost of someone he loved.

But neither one of them had known.

And so now, all they could do was move forward, one step at a time.

He just had to pray that what he'd said before, the things he really did want to believe, would hold true. That Dean _hadn't_ changed, not in the ways that matter.

Because despite everything they’d been through...he didn't know what would come next if he was wrong.

oOo

Dean felt like a thin sheet drifting along the edges of consciousness, a stream of light only just tethered to a form he vaguely remembered. His feathers hung, carefully draped over chairs positioned on either side of his bed, and when he awoke, the first thing that greeted him was a headache that stemmed from his very core.

He groaned, trying to move, but found his words mixed, and his muscles momentarily unwilling to oblige him.

"Dean," said a voice from the side of the room, and the seraph turned, taking in the sight of Castiel seated on the mattress's edge. "I would recommend you stay where you are. You were very weak when I brought you here."

"What...I… _ol as, zir…"_ He attempted to respond, but trailed off, an unfiltered ocean of molecules bobbing and weaving around him as he tried to make sense of his thoughts. "Castiel?" he asked softly, looking into the depths of the other angel's expression; knots of barely hidden emotion, tangled up in what seemed to be worry upon worry. He wanted to reach out and make it better, somehow knowing he could do it with just a touch.

"Your grace needs time to heal, Dean," Castiel told him gently, watching the outstretched hand withdraw, and ignoring the way his heart felt to hear words of enochian fall from the older Winchester's tongue. It was a collision of his two eternal homes, he thought, the very idea stirring something inside him in a way he couldn’t describe. A piece of the heaven that once was, long ago, the way it had been meant to be...now born anew, in the place he knew he would never leave by Dean's side. "We'll speak about what happened later," he said. "For now...you should rest."

The seraph swallowed, and then looked down at his fingers, curling them tight and making them release until he felt like all the layers of him were shifting back onto the same plane of being. He exhaled deeply, and his gaze was restored to sharpness, a calm sense of relief beginning to saturate his body. His eyes then went to the wings just beyond his peripheral, silently willing the limp, aching bands to return and fold away beneath his skin.

Castiel waited, as he always would, watching the way Dean bit his lip over the echoes of his ordeal until at last it was over.

"Is Sam...okay?" Dean asked, and his voice was low, but once more undoubtedly his. "I...I messed up, Cas, I-” He stopped, the words catching in his throat. “He shouldn't have had to see me like that."

"Sam has been in the library, while I kept watch over you,” Cas told him, unbetraying of anything but patience. “He's unharmed; simply worried."

For a moment, they sat in silence, shared thrums emanating in a sense of comfort, and the hunter could feel something inside him slowly knitting back together. The former soldier waited to speak, until he was sure the healing was truly underway.

"You were reckless, Dean," Castiel said finally, his tone quiet, and yet unsparingly harsh in equal measure. "You may one day be more powerful than even I am now, but that does not make you infallible."

"I- You think I don't know that?" Dean snapped at him in response, heat rising to his words with little delay, and roughly shoved away the fear that arose from the notion of what would one day become his longevity. "I pushed this _because_ I'm not invincible, Cas. We _had_ to do it, because if we aren't prepared for something as stupid, a-as a few lines of red in the wrong place at the wrong time, I could be a goner, and Sam would be alone. His brother, who got himself turned into a frickin _angel_ the day he decided to investigate a case, wiped off the map. Just like that."

"And so...you would hasten that uncertain future's coming?" Castiel asked him. "You would run headfirst into that possibility, as if to get it over with?"

Dean opened his mouth to object, but Cas cut him off, not looking to fight. "I understand, Dean," he said softly. "You're afraid. You're afraid that you've changed, but not for the better. That now you only carry more proverbial baggage, and in doing so will only bring more dangers to those around you. But I promise you, just as I promised you before." He leaned forward, and rested a fiercely caring hand on the hunter's arm. "I _promise,_ Dean Winchester, that come what may, we _will_ be here."

The pledge was sincere, and so it was all the seraph could do to keep his eyes away.

“Would you like me to bring you something?” Castiel offered gently, his fingers receding as he changed the subject, having read the mood. “There should be a fresh set of blankets in the linen closet Sam cleaned out recently, near the kitchens. If not, I should be able to find one, regardless.”

“Sure,” Dean mumbled in reply, his gaze still unable to leave the walls of his room. “Sounds good.”

He waited until Cas’s footsteps had receded out the door and around the corner, and released a breath of heaviness, one that didn’t quite go away. Slowly, he maneuvered his legs to the ground, shifting and making sure that his knees could hold his weight before he went to stand. He felt...tied to his boundaries, he noted, but still not quite human. Like he went from a person, to everything that constitutes being an angel, to a weighted, almost submerged rock beneath a sea of his own being. His senses had retreated inside him, but it wasn’t what he felt under incognito mode. This was more like energy conservation. Critical battery saver. Like walking around with a cautionary IV in his wrist, slowly helping his beaten bloodstream go back to normal.

He guessed he had about a minute, maybe five, before Cas came back, and maybe just as long until his strength gave out, and so he placed one foot in front of the other, holding the walls as he navigated the bunker before coming to a wobbly stop in the doorway of the library.

Inside, hunched over a table covered in lore like Cas said he’d be was Sam; his face pressed against an enochian handbook, one arm rested over the closed lid of his laptop, and long stretches of muscle so rarely relaxed slowly rising and falling in sleep.

Dean bit his lip, and his movements were slow as he walked over, but careful not to cause a disturbance.

For a moment, he just stood there. He couldn't extend himself to feel Sam from where he was, and despite not wanting to do things that way, knowing he _couldn't_ still made something in him grow in longing.

He knew he didn't have all night to stand there and stew, however, so he stepped closer, gently dragging his fingers through the younger hunter's hair, and imparting whatever sense of ease he had to give. "Sleep well, baby brother," he murmured, the air softening in the area around his touch. _I guess you were right about this earlier, weren’t you._

He looked away, but with an ache in his chest, found the courage to whisper;

“I promise...angels are watching over you, Sammy.

“They always will be."

_I’m not going anywhere._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case yall didn't notice, I now have ways of deriving enochian, and let me tell you, while it is a _process_ to string things together piece by piece, it is satisfying as all hell to incorporate. (So that's not going away any time soon. Only more of it from here).
> 
> Translations not included in-text, are:  
>  _"Ol as, zir..."_ \- "I was, I am..."
> 
> Also, sorry if any of the transitions in tone or otherwise were a bit less smooth in any way with this chapter. I've been a bit busy this past week and so not everything clicked all the way like it might normally. (Though maybe that's just me). Let me know how it all sat for you. (I'd love to hear reactions to the ending).
> 
> Anyway, on teasers for next time...  
> Yikes.  
> I'm going to have to be honest.  
> Pain.  
> Pain central. 1k of me being horrible person. What I do to Dean next is not even remotely _near_ the zip code of "kind". Try "sadistic", you'd be getting closer. We're only just getting started on this road. I'm sorry in advance.  
> (Maybe it won't be so bad, but honestly, I have no idea. I guess we're just going to have to find out).
> 
> You guys are amazing, despite everything I put you through, and for that I am incredibly, incredibly grateful. I can't put it into words.
> 
> I'll see you next time :)


	13. What Was (And What Will Be)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today is...a landmark, milestone, a point that words can't encapsulate in a journey that began fifteen years ago. I'm sure you've all been thinking about it, standing in a gallery of the pictures our hearts have painted, and so it is with a grateful warmth in my chest that I thank all of you, for the love you've had for this show and your contributions to this fandom, however large or infinitesimal they may be.  
> This has been the ride of a lifetime, and _this is not the end._
> 
> The song I chose for today is Kansas' Carry On Wayward Son.
> 
> I hope, however many tears you shed today, that you end your night with a smile.

Dean Winchester had spent a large portion of his life, larger in many ways than most, feeling powerless; bearing the burden of being unable to vanquish the slew of demons by which he was plagued, and the knowledge that people - often the people he loved - were hurt because of it.

But in this moment...it was like light was folding in over his every cell, his every muscle, his every synapse, pooling in a liquid heat that traced and blurred away the outlines of his form. He was a storm encased in skin and bone, made of more energy, more raw power than any being he may face could hope to rival. His wings felt wide enough to cast the whole world in shadow if he so wished, and his eyes, lost to a sea of grace, could all but take over for the sun. He could feel himself, flaring, trailing, _rising;_ pearlescent afterimages lingering in his wake and creating vibrational shifts strong enough to rumble the earth. This was what he would be one day.

But that moment was not now. 

It was only a future yet to come.

Dean flew awake, and his hands were clenched amid the tangle of sheets at his side, a feverish hum emanating from his core and giving rise to the sheen of sweat blanketing his forehead. He had to take a moment to force himself to breathe, to remember that he _needed_ to breathe, and he was overcome all at once by the sensations of what he was. Frozen, with the near paralyzing fear of how terrifying and how...much, he'd been in that dream...but there was more, in the panic that came from somewhere else. The instincts, telling him that he'd been so unbound, and so free, and so _right,_ but that when he woke the sensation had been wrenched from his grasp and he didn't know where it had gone.

He pushed himself to the wall behind him and held a hand over his chest, trying between the beats of his anxious heart to convince the twisting forces within him to calm. "Come on," he muttered, his clenched jaw only just able to keep the desperate chill that ran circles down his spine out of his voice. "Come on, come on."

He willed his mind to steady, but somehow every piece of him refused, the drive of dread and impulse and fear pushing his head into his knees and his arms over the nape of his neck. From beneath his skin, it was like the hum of grace was rising to a hiss, heating and boiling until his wings felt as though they were slowly catching fire behind the runes that guarded them- as if they'd burn him out, ignite and take him with them if he didn't let them go, as if they needed to be freed, and so Dean sucked in a breath and obeyed, doing so if only to make it stop. He let them through, and his eyes pressed shut, his mouth holding back a cry at the searing sensation of release. His every atom seemed to repel the others, and he found every thought, every whisper of air too much to bear without his grace keeping the strength of his perception at bay. He was locked inside himself, the edges of his body set alight as though drenched in holy oil.

"Sammy," he croaked, despite the knowledge that his brother couldn't hear him. "Cas. Oh god, please…" But his energy wasn't able to make it beyond the reach of his room, beyond his aching, deadlock boundaries. No one could hear him, or feel him. He wanted to be _free_ again, free of this, he wanted to return to where he'd been, he wanted to _find what he'd lost, whatever he'd lost…_

His wings burned as they channeled the force of their exit, and they thrust themselves wide, feathers straining and tensing like shocks of canvas pulling too far. They scratched against the walls, his room not wide enough to provide for the breadth he imposed, and the seraph could hear the stone's texture echoing through the fiber of his bones, its sound somehow resisting the path to his ears.

"Please," he whispered, rows of shaking teeth tight, and face contorted by the agony that struck at him from dimensions he couldn't describe. "Please, I can't be this." But whether he meant an angel, or human...he didn’t know.

He tried to move, but instead his vision dipped and twisted, eyes blinded and forcing him to see through everything else. There were visions seeping under his skin, hazy tatters of a land once known as heaven, and words resonated in his mind, the adage spoken the day the seeds of his grace were sown.

 _"Ils...trian...untal kehnhagon na."_ It was gentle thunder, a rumble made of creation and purity at the birth of everything that would one day be. _You shall be among the angels,_ it whispered, into the very heat of his veins. It was his destiny.

"No," Dean rasped, unable to pry himself away. "No, no, I- let me go. Let me go." He took a breath, then another, but he felt nothing, and so began breathing faster, grasping with his lungs for air like if he could just hold onto it long enough, it would pull him back to the world he knew. _"Cas,"_ he begged out loud, something in his plea guttural and unseating, yearning for a way out. _"Castiel!"_ His only way out.

His eyes were drowning in grace, and his own lifeblood was thick and choking, thrown from any semblance of balance and now falling, _falling,_ like a ball and chain woven together from all he was. The sound couldn't travel. It was all trapped, just like the rest of him.

For what amounted to hours, but could've been days, the seraph could do nothing but feel every excruciating second burn away.

And when the trenchcoated angel finally arrived, and opened the room's door the next morning...he was none the wiser to what had happened;

Or just how many desperate prayers had cried out for his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M GONNA FIX THIS.
> 
> I PROMISE.


	14. Breathe (Even If You Have To Keep Your Hands Around Your Throat)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everybody! We get to remedy that cliffhanger! Yay!  
> Hope you're all doing well. People in the US are gearing up for the thanksgiving holiday, and I know many are definitely grateful for the break. I'm exhausted right now too, it may or may not have made looking over this chapter and prepping to post a real feat. Hope everyone who's celebrating is doing so safely.
> 
> As someone on tumblr once said, "do you know how much braining it takes to make words go?"  
> The answer is quite a bit, ladies and gentlemen. But it's my pleasure.
> 
> This time's song recs are...uh...the acoustic version of Where's My Love by SYML, and I Can't Feel My Face by The Weeknd.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we get going...I haven't said this before, but I want anyone reading this who's a front line worker, or a healthcare professional, to know that my heart goes out to you in more ways than I can express. You deserve all the strength and support that this world has to give, and I am so, so sorry, for everything that this year has put you through. You have my immeasurable empathy for your resilience. You have been persisting through a state of being and bearing a responsibility that few are capable of shouldering.
> 
> Thank you. Thank you for everything.

When Dean eventually returned to consciousness, he was alone; the room’s air permeated by a morning chill, but no longer drilling against the reaches of his mind.

“Casti- C-Cas?” he rasped into the emptiness, the last ragged word that had echoed from his tongue slipping through the cracks once more.

His energy offered to cast out a search, but at this, Dean stilled, taking tentative stock of the forces flowing within his body. He found the grace that had only hours before been an ocean of agony, rendering him vulnerable and alone, now returned to its thrum of warmth, like almost nothing had happened to speak of. The pain’s memory felt burned into him, as though he’d been branded, like this had been an event or a checkpoint in time, but beyond that...it appeared to be gone. Just like that.

“What’s happening to me?” he nearly whispered aloud.

“Dean?” came a voice from the creaking door, and the hunter jumped, abandoning his fetal position at the mattresses’ edge and pushing himself up off his side.

“Cas,” Dean said, clearing his throat, and willing his essences as far away from the open as he could. "Cas, you're here." He felt fragile, like anything could break him, but he didn’t want how shaken he was to show. At least the wings had gone back inside at some point during the night, he thought, still nearly able to feel the way the layers of feathers grated against the painted brick above him.

It was all he could do not to shiver at the memory.

“Are you feeling any better?” the other angel asked, sitting down, and frowning when Dean’s grace (despite being unveiled), appeared to be just out of his reach.

“Yeah,” the Winchester answered, partly in question, swallowing the waver that fought him at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, just...need some time, I think.” _Where were you, Cas?_ he thought desperately. _Where were you?_

Castiel let out a breath of relief.

It appeared there would be no answer.

"You mind if I, uh...try to sleep in, a bit more?" Dean asked, his tone only slightly weary in resignation. "It wasn't that long a night."

“Of course,” Cas said, brushing Dean over with his gaze. “Compared to yesterday, how much strength do you believe you have regained?”

“I’m running at maybe...fifty, sixty percent?” he estimated, taking a guess and briefly flexing the tired, but anxiously willing muscles in his leg. “I-is that a good thing?”

“Given that only a handful of hours ago you were likely very far from that number, I’d say yes.” Cas exhaled, brows furrowing slightly above his nose. If only he knew. “Normally angels are given the chance to heal in heaven,” he said aloud, as if in regret. “It is and always has been what gleans the best recovery.” 

“I’m fine, Cas,” Dean told him, a light on the ceiling flickering slightly as a quiver rose and fell in the corner of his eye. _Angels. Because that's what I am._ “I don’t need heaven.” He had to say it, to counter at least some measure of his fears out loud.

The trenchcoated healer hummed, and ran a delicate hand over the sheets at the end of the bed, growing lost in a measure of his thoughts before rising to stand. “Alright," he said, beginning to reach for the brass of the door. _"Bolþ nazareth,”_ he murmured beneath his breath, as if in farewell, and the words gently suffused the room around him- surprise sparking within Dean’s chest. It was an old adage, a phrase of warmth shared between God's first creations in light and dark times alike. _Be thou pillars of gladness,_ it meant. It had been years since Castiel had had someone to say it to.

Only a few feet away, it brought Dean such welling, intrinsic comfort that he almost wanted to run away from it. He knew what the phrase meant, and something inside him wanted strongly to say it back.

“Y-you too, Cas,” he settled for, turning his face to hide the way he was forced to grit his teeth.

Castiel looked up at him, and some hidden flicker of emotion rose in his face, before promptly fading away. He didn’t know what he could say, and so left- quietly closing the door behind him.

Dean stared, and then sank back against the bed, his troubles rising as the rest of his body lowered.

He should tell them. He should tell them what happened and ask for their help. He could feel that something was different, something was off, and they deserved to know from him. The version of him that at least _remembered_ what it was like to be human, however long that fragile memory would uphold. He told Sam he trusted them to keep him grounded, right? He promised his little brother, didn't he?

But that was before he'd seen himself as what they'd have to stop.

He shivered.

Cas hadn’t even felt it.

Them knowing wouldn't keep them safe.

“Alright. One breath at a time,” he coached himself, pulling his grace in tight, and then tighter, until saltwater pricked at his eyes. He didn’t know why this had to happen, his mind began to spin, asking questions of fate but not finding any answers. Because nothing could tell him why, after this long of being in control: of his senses barely kicking into overdrive, of not bursting a single lightbulb, of not going supernova and burning his brother’s eyes out, of not losing himself the way he had the night before; why _any_ trust he’d been able to find in himself had been all but dashed to pieces.

“Just breathe,” he repeated, pushing everything else away.

“Just one breath at a time.”

oOo

Dean spent most of the day in his room, thoughts alternating between blankness and cyclones of their own making and his aching limbs lying restless, until he realized he needed to leave, for a feeling that hadn’t called to him in weeks.

_Hunger._

It was a sensation so familiar, finally returning amid what was the rest of his existence turned on its head, that it could've made him cry, he felt, if he were anyone else in the world.

Because ever since that day on the field, he'd avoided food, alcohol, and even water entirely, willing himself to forget them if it meant he could avoid confronting what had been such a profound staple of his life. He'd made coffee nearly every day, but he never drank a single drop, instead offering it out to Sam and Cas. And every time he'd walked by his brother in the kitchen, he'd forced himself to keep moving, to put it out of his mind that nothing in stomach seemed to be able to stir any longer. He knew angels tasted things differently, that the experience wasn't the same because ultimately the act of eating was _human,_ and they weren't.

Now, however, it wasn't looking like he had a choice.

 _Guess it was going to have to happen eventually,_ he thought, and lowered his feet to the floor, forcing himself to walk out of his room and down the hall. He didn't want to be around anyone else, especially not his brother and Cas, but if he was going to have a shot at getting past this, then clearly he needed to help himself.

He reached the main reading area, and Sam looked up from where he was sitting alone, putting down the book that had been in his hand and rising from his chair. "Dean," he said, removing a pencil from behind one ear and taking in the sight of his brother back on his feet. "How- how do you feel?"

The younger Winchester's eyes were still ringed in sleepless shadow, as they always were after the effects of the past several years, but the seraph could tell from a glance that Sam had dreamed peacefully the night before. At least that was one long-deserved point in the win column, he thought.

It was almost worth it that his night had been so fraught with fear in the meantime.

"I'm better, yeah, or at least getting there," Dean told him, using a table's edge to help support his weight, and momentarily double checking the framework of his internal, metaphysical straitjacket. He wasn't sure if he was being too nervous, or in some ways, almost not nervous enough. "Cas checked in on me this morning, seems to think the same." Normally, a question would've written in between the lines, wanting to know, _where were you?_ But this time, he was relieved enough to forgo the subtext, grateful that his brother hadn't been anywhere near him when he'd gone alight.

He didn't know what might've happened if that had been the case.

"I'm glad," Sam exhaled deeply, and his drawn shoulders sank slightly in relief. "I've just been trying to get us some more answers, about anything. Everything." He motioned to the texts covering the desk space in front of him, and Dean leaned in, reading stray notes jotted down in what appeared to be two sets of handwriting.

"Cas been helpin' you out?" the older hunter asked.

"Uh, yeah," Sam answered, briefly scratching the back of his neck. "Progress has been slow, even with the two of us. Half this stuff is contradicting, and the other half, almost indecipherable. I sent him out on a supply run a little while back. He looked like he needed some air."

Dean was going to nod, and then retreat back into his room, when his stomach growled, and he remembered why he'd risked coming down in the first place.

"...do you know if he's gonna bring back any pie?" the older hunter chanced aloud, resisting the urge to cross his fingers despite more than one underlying sense of apprehension.

Sam's eyebrows lifted slowly, but he took out his phone, pulling up the right contact number and shooting off a quick text message. "He says he will," Sam read out loud after a minute, and slipped the device back into his pocket. "But...why now?" he asked, the question somewhat trepidant, but otherwise curious. "I mean…you've pretty much been avoiding food these days, haven't you?"

Dean looked away, and something turned in his gut. "...I guess part of the whole recovery process means I have to eat, again," he said eventually.

"Huh." Sam breathed in understanding, and then nodded, making a mental note of it. "That makes sense, actually," he mused, thinking back to some of what he'd learned in the last twenty-four hours. "Cas was telling me how most angels normally heal surrounded by heaven's energy, but...seraphs were meant to live here on earth, right? So maybe it's like you're built in with different ways of getting your strength back."

Dean frowned slightly, processing the notion, and then forced his brows to relax, looking behind him in the direction of the kitchen. "You know, you said, once…" he began tentatively, hoping he wouldn't regret it. "That Cas was telling you what it was like. Eating, I mean, after he got his mojo back that time he was human.”

Sam looked at him for a moment, and then his expression softened, not needing an angel’s perception to understand where this was coming from. “Yeah,” he answered, leaning back and letting one leg rest up above the table’s ledge. “A sandwich. He said he could taste every molecule, or something like that. Didn’t seem to be enjoying it.”

Dean’s eyes lowered, but Sam leaned forward, not yet having finished. (He didn't notice how Dean subtly leaned away).

“But your senses...they haven’t been that finely tuned this whole time, have they? I know you’re getting...more, sure, but...I don’t know if you’re experiencing things the way Cas does. I mean, I’m sure you could dial yourself up to that setting if you tried, but from what I’ve read in all these books, and from how I’ve seen you dealing with all this...it gives me the feeling you have a choice, you know?” The air sat quietly for a moment. “Tell me if I’m getting any of this wrong, here,” Sam said, folding his arms. “I’m not trying to put you in a box. I’m just trying to help you figure this out.”

“I think…” Dean said in answer, swallowing. “I think I’ve been lucky, so far.” His legs swayed, briefly, and he moved to sit, waving off Sam’s concern at the evidence of his encroaching fatigue. “Before the field, before we went all the way with this,” he started, “I wasn’t in control." He spoke carefully; taking his chance to sow the seeds, to get Sam to understand where the line was in case the day came when that line was crossed. "I could feel _...everything,_ Sammy, whether I wanted to or not. And after pickin’ up the rest of the grace, letting it in like I did, I thought it might only get worse. But…” he said, hands wringing in his lap. “it didn’t. I can do more now, I know I can, but I haven’t _...had_ to. It’s been...listening to me, I think, to what I’m willing to handle.” _Until last night, anyway,_ a voice in his mind remarked, and the thought was a chill at the nape of his spine. “So maybe you’re right.” He paused, allowing himself to breathe. “As long as I've got a choice like I do now, as far as I'm concerned...we're in the clear."

Sam watched him, the thoughts playing out over his brother’s face in a subdued, yet layered chorus of rhythms. “The Seraphim were made to feel, Dean,” he said gently, in whatever reassurance he could. “It’s the one thing all these texts I’ve been reading have agreed on. Your humanity is the crux of your strength. So parts of your life like this one...I’d say you stand a good chance. Just don’t sweat it, okay?” He rose from his spot and patted his brother on the back, the gesture firm in its comfort. “I’m gonna go take a shower. Cas should be back soon.”

Dean nodded in thanks, and looked down at his hands, silently counting over his fingers the seconds until Sam's touch left him completely. The number of conversations like this he’d ended up engaging in over the past several days, he realized, however many of them there’d been likely able to form their own count as well. _Too damn many,_ he decided, shuddering briefly. He looked around at the empty room, and his grace stirred amid its constraints, but he pressed it back to the farthest reaches of his awareness, ignoring the way the power of his feathers tugged from beneath his spine. ,em>Maybe last night was a one-time thing, he thought, the voice in his mind resolute. _But if it wasn’t, I can promise._

_I’m not going to let it happen again._

oOo

Sam was out of sight when Castiel returned, and so as he made his way through the bunker’s halls, the trenchcoated angel was surprised to find the other Winchester waiting once he entered the kitchen.

“Dean,” he greeted, slightly taken aback. “I didn’t realize you were here.” The seraph’s grace was still far from his awareness, like it had been that morning, and while he knew he could attribute it to the possible guidance of instincts and behaviors surrounding the process of healing, it was still disconcerting for Dean to be so invisible to him. “I’ve brought pie, as Sam requested. I presume...he asked on your behalf?”

"He did, thanks." Dean rifled through the bags, not making eye contact, and sensed his fingers hit the telling plastic case, lifting it out and feeling his expression soften when he saw it was a slice of apple. He reached around to a drawer and grabbed a fork, thinking he might go back to his room, but then he caught Cas's gaze, and something inside those soft oceans of blue told him to stay. He couldn’t say no. _Where were you, Cas?_ Slowly, he let his form settle down over one of the counter's barstools, and the gentle look relaxed against his own. "I'm just gonna...eat this," he spoke out loud, and then internally cringed at the recognition of what he just said.

Cas answered with nothing, but his watchful eye was neither penetrating, nor scathing. He exuded empathy as he leaned against the counter's opposing edge, and his hands folded gently over the cool expanse of metal. _Go ahead,_ his body language said, as if in every gesture of patience there was.

_I'm here._

Dean swallowed, and he opened the container's lid, feeling the plastic pop beneath his fingers and the warm smell of cinnamon drift up to meet his nose. Its enthralling nature brought his stomach to practically leap in eagerness, in the first moment of something akin to magic in a way that was _human_ that he'd had since all of this began. A grin, and the beginnings of a contented groan simultaneously tugging at his lips, he sunk his utensil into the pastry's exterior, finding the texture of the flaking crust deceptive in its concealment of the melting gold that lay beneath. The slow pooling of cinnamon achieved the impossible, and drove away the chill of fear.

He savored every bite, and felt it all. Not as an angel, or as a human, but as _himself._

And by the time his mouth was full...it was safe to say his heart was so as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PIE!  
> FINALLY!
> 
> Anyway...teasers for next time:
> 
> Oh boy.  
> Next time. It's-  
> The next chapter is nearly 5k, and I-  
> I'm not gonna beat around the bush. I made myself emotional writing it. 1am tears variety of emotional. Possibly contains some of the best quality writing I've been able to put into this story yet. I don't know.  
> You-  
> You'll see.
> 
> You'll see.


	15. Movement (Release)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh man. This chapter. Since we last spoke, this has actually made me cry a little (again), and I'm pretty sure I can count on only one hand the number of times I've somehow managed to do that to myself with my own writing. I have no idea if that will translate to you guys as you read today, but at the very least, I hope you enjoy. Feel free to leave a comment if you felt something.
> 
> Today's song recs were actually planned out in advance, for once: Movement by Hozier, because listening to it provided the inspiration for a part of this, Honey Whiskey by Nothing But Thieves because it fits some of the vibes, (and as always is good music), and Heat Of The Moment by Asia, in a testament to the nature of the decision making on both my and the story's part that led us here.
> 
> Let's strap in, ladies and gentlemen. I'll see you on the other side of this ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, by the way- I changed my line break thingy. Time to hang up the "oOo", at least for now. Today, and for the foreseeable future, we're going with a classy "-o-o-o-".
> 
> Just trying it out XD
> 
> Btw, this chapter, just like most of the others, might be best read in vertical mode. But hey, it's your cup of tea. I'm curious how you guys prefer it.

Whatever sense of hope that Dean had felt for himself, in the moments spent filling his mouth with pie and sitting at Castiel's side hadn't chosen to stick around long.

The days passed after the beginning of his recovery, and his disarrayed, aching core healed slowly, at a rate that likely would've been faster had Dean not continued to keep it firmly within its bounds. He hadn't groomed since that morning, hadn't let his wings out at all, but however much he tried to deny it, he could feel the pins and needles, like an itch in his veins and over the runes in his back nudging him to break the cycle of neglect. But he couldn't give in.

He couldn't do it.

Because every night, he lay awake until he fell asleep (dreading the memory of what it was to fall), and every night he dreamt of nothing, waking up after a scant, shallow few hours and not feeling any more or any less rested than he had in the evening before. His grace began to adjust to his underlying anxiousness and presented a calm front on the outside, easing Castiel, the only other being around who could sense these energies; but in truth, the reality of his condition remained a series of eggshells upon which Dean forced himself to walk. He couldn't trust anything, couldn't coexist with forces he knew didn't answer to him entirely, and if it kept the world safe from what he'd been in that dream, if it kept what he was in his power to decide...then he didn't care what it felt like, he told himself. His internal straitjacket wasn't going to come off anytime soon.

It was proving more than a simple task to stick to that, however, when he was set on keeping it, and the reasons for it to himself.

"I'm not suggesting anything overtly taxing, Dean," Cas was saying, standing beside the library chair that Dean had been occupying for the majority of the afternoon. "You were making progress, and I'm simply asking if you wish to learn more, whatever I'm capable of teaching you."

Dean took a sip from a coffee mug that was sitting next to him, and tried to keep his expression neutral. "I'm fine, Cas. Shouldn't we be sticking to the books right now?"

Cas looked at him as if debating whether or not to say something aloud, and then sighed, moving to sit down at the hunter's side. "Dean," he said, and his tone strayed away from roughness in a way that the other angel couldn't ignore. "I...I know what it's like, to be human, and to then find yourself with so much energy suddenly at your disposal. I had centuries of experience as an angel to guide me, and still the transition after regaining that power was difficult. Surely...surely it wishes for you to call upon it, does it not? To vent it out, to experience release?"

Dean stiffened, and the rise of tension was so slight it was nearly imperceptible.

_Release._

His grace coiled as if in subconscious answer, but it remained within its bounds, and so Castiel didn't feel the response before it was quelled. "After that demon smiting and what the sigil took out of me...I think I'm good," Dean said, somewhat trepidant, hoping it was believable. He thought a lamp might've flickered for a moment in front of him, but after a couple seconds of staring at it, he decided that he was just seeing things, and willed his thoughts to move along. He lifted the book that was in his lap, an idle, heavy tome he'd chosen from his brother's stack and set it back down over the cross of his legs, as if in invitation.

“Wanna help me out with some of this?” he asked, realizing that Cas hadn't yet moved to stand, and taking that in stride. “Found some old files earlier that Sam said were all scrambled up. He went off to grab some codexes or something a while ago, but he should be back any minute now. I'm just sorting through what stands a chance at getting that far and what probably doesn't."

Cas reached out to some of the paper folders sitting out in front of them, and grimaced, the waterlogged records all but unintelligible save for a few, somewhat coherent inky smears. "I don't understand," he murmured, half to himself and half in a growing, tired frustration. "The Men of Letters have always been so...meticulous, in their record keeping, in the storage and preservation of their findings. Yet all Sam and I have been able to uncover are readings that provide us with little to no conclusive fact, at least seventeen reasons for illegibility that I would've never imagined humans could achieve, and roadblock upon roadblock to getting even so far as that." His brow furrowed, neatly pressing and setting the all but useless stack aside. "What were they trying to hide? Unless heaven hasn’t been so removed from the situation as we thought, what motivation would these men have had to withhold such information?"

"I don't know," Dean admitted, and something just beneath his sternum tightened at the realization. He then shrugged, however, reorienting his mind to stick to what was next on their list. "I mean, we did find a couple books that aren't completely torn up, like this one," he said, motioning to the volume still in his hands. "I guess we'll just have to try out the codebreaking and see what's what."

Cas moved to reply, nodding, but then Dean felt something from the direction of the entryway- stiffening in his seat before realizing it was just Sam, who was approaching the tables with a heavy box positioned precariously amid his arms. The older hunter moved to stand and help, but Castiel placed a hand on his shoulder, silently prompting him to stay. "I'll take care of it," he murmured, rising to his feet so that he could give his aid, and carefully assisted in easing the collection onto the section of space still open atop the table's surface.

"I'm not a baby, Cas," Dean told him, shaking his head despite the underlying gratitude that was betrayed in his rolling eyes. "I'm not gonna fall over if I help Sammy here with a box of dust."

"You're also not at full strength yet, Dean," Sam replied, wiping off the area over his forehead. "And I'll have you know it took me a half an hour to _find_ this box of dust."

Dean snorted. "Better see if it was worth it, then." He leaned forward and pulled the haggard material towards him, letting Sam get comfortable in his chair while he began to take out the first items sitting in the top.

There was a small puff of musty air as a long, thin stretch of paper unfolded, and it appeared to display what could've been anything from a star chart to even a map of a field of grass. "Hey, any idea what this is, Cas?" Dean asked, and tilted it in the other angel's direction as he coughed to stifle the tickle in his throat.

"I believe...it was an attempt to plot the location of Michael's crypts," Cas said, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the marks in the parchment. "A combination of astrology, electromagnetic readings and other tracing techniques."

"Were they successful?" Sam asked, pausing en route to lift out the next item in his reach.

"No," Cas told him with a shake of his head. "This is mere speculation. I doubt anyone but a seraph themselves, and even then perhaps only one primed for rebirth is capable of sensing the crypt."

"What even is the deal with this whole crypt thing anyway?" Dean questioned, crossing his arms and scratching the area over his wrist. "I found a _field_ when I went lookin', like an open, empty ass field."

"To my knowledge, the crypt is a source of energy," Castiel explained. "It’s not a reserve that exists in the tangible plane. The metaphysics of it would likely be...complicated, to say the least. The crypt bears Michael's name because he was the only angel strong enough to infuse it with the power it contains."

Dean frowned slightly, but nodded, finding himself able to understand at least that much.

They continued to work, going through the box's contents and kicking up more dust as they attempted to ask and answer the list of questions that only seemed to be growing in size. The matching of workable codebreakers to fragments of text was time-consuming, but amid the keys were other fascinating items: case in point, being what one of three now had in their hands.

Sam was looking at a thin book, half in runes and half in Latin, and huffed softly, a crinkle rising to the corner of his eye. 

"Hey...Dean," the younger Winchester began, briefly glancing at the notes to his right before leaning forward, as if in experimentation. _"Nonci om qui-in aala?"_ He asked, expression open in observation. _Do you know where you are?_

Cas stared at him, surprised to hear syllables of enochian coming from the lone human’s mouth, but looked back at Dean, quickly understanding what Sam was attempting.

"Uhh _...zir emna, pahunpan urmed druxgal,"_ the seraph responded after a moment, tongue curving naturally over the language he'd never known, in time with a furrowed brow. _"Paun ged urgraph? Zir chis-ge ge orunpal tarunul, zirdohl?"_

_Uhh...I'm here, bitch. Why? I'm not one with the infinity, am I?_

Sam stared, as though vaguely in awe, and Cas could feel his heart beating in his chest. _"Kehnagon fam-"_ Dean began to ask, clearly unsure as to what was happening, but then the other angel held up a hand, an aching, yet apologetic wave rising to the face of his aura.

 _"Nonci giche-ge kehunmed graphgegon-med,_ Dean," he said quietly.

_You're not speaking of the earth._

The older hunter looked at him, but that answer only left him with more questions. He didn’t understand what Cas meant, or why he could feel his brother's hesitance and slight regret over whatever the hell had just happened (was apparently still happening), or why something in his mouth felt...shifted, in a way he couldn't pinpoint.

Sam cleared his throat, finally returning the words in the laden air to English. "I just asked you if you knew where you were, right?" he began tentatively.

"Yeah, and? Are you okay? Why in the hell would you ask me that?" Dean said, as if repeating himself.

Sam and Cas exchanged a glance.

"Dean...I asked you in enochian. And...you responded, in enochian."

The room was still. "I wanted to see if you'd understand me."

Dean's eyes widened, and he looked at his hands, as if expecting to see something different. "I didn't- am I back to normal?" he began, the fact that he needed to clarify it at all nearly making his stomach twist. Sam confirmed with a nod, but the sense of anxiety didn't lessen. "I haven't done that before, have I?" Dean asked in follow-up, his grace pulsing tightly and pushing against its confines.

Sam's eyes dipped for only a moment, but Dean could feel it coming off him, the knowledge that the answer was _no_ making something inside him freeze. He opened his mouth, anger, but mostly fear beginning to rise, but Cas cut him off, to explain before things got out of hand.

"It was shortly after you and Sam tested the banishing sigil, Dean," he said, distancing himself from the memory of the body on the floor, the cry of grace calling out for him, and the way he'd run, wishing he could've flown to answer. "You were, as you would say, 'out of it', you- the part of you that is an angel was closer to the surface than the rest of your active consciousness."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Dean asked brusquely. Cas said nothing, and Dean turned to Sam, his gaze echoing the same question.

"It means...I- we don't _know,"_ the younger hunter ventured to answer, before giving up, scoffing and letting a hand rise and then fall over his thigh. "Damnit, Dean, you were on the floor, your wings were covering everything we could see, and you said something in enochian, a- some sort of omen, something that God or one of the archangels said after they sealed away the Darkness, according to Cas. I don't know why, okay? It came out of your mouth, not mine."

Dean looked away, and then rose to stand, legs shaking but one arm sharply snapping out when Cas moved to give him aid. Dean turned and began to walk, wringing his hands, and ignoring the hot pulse that rose to his touch. "Don't do it again, Sam," he said, his tone hard.

_You might not like what you find._

-o-o-o-

After he'd disappeared into the Bunker's walls, Cas and Sam left Dean alone for the majority of the day, Sam putting the thin tome - a volume that had turned out to contain several basic enochian-to-Latin translations, away, as if in guilt.

"He probably needs some air," the younger Winchester murmured, when he saw Cas's gaze following Dean's path out of their vision. "Give him some time to think."

Cas nodded, knowing that assessment was correct, but regardless, Dean remained the main subject of his thoughts until hours later, when at last Sam went to take a rest and left his remaining partner in research free to roam the halls. He reached out with his grace, still receiving next to nothing, but eventually found the fellow angel in the sparring room, a picture of crossed arms and tight knees in silhouette indicating that the older Winchester hadn't moved from where he was standing in some time.

Cas walked forward and stood next to him, and his eyes drifted to the skylight that appeared to be the crux of Dean's attention. He said nothing, willing to simply lend his presence until a proverbial branch was cast his way.

"Sammy's asleep?" Dean asked, breaking the silence without moving his head.

Castiel nodded. "If he is not, then he likely will be soon."

They stood in their respective quiet for some time once more, but Dean sighed and closed his eyes, chin tilting closer to the ache just beneath his sternum.

"I'm sorry I've been such a dick to you lately, Cas," he began, and in doing so took the other angel by surprise.

"What?"

"You- you've been lookin' out for me, ever since I made Sammy test that stupid banishing sigil, and I've just been stonewalling you at every turn. God, that was a stupid decision,” he broke off to mutter to himself, but whether by that he meant the experiment, or pushing his compatriot away, Castiel couldn’t say for sure. “I don't think I even said so much as a thank you,” Dean continued, now making eye contact, “for trying to show me the ropes, for helping me deal. For saving my ass when this whole thing started, for any of it. I would've gone on ignoring it back in that town if you hadn't shagged ass to come out there, and I probably would've died by now." Dean laughed, the sound weighted. "Meanwhile, here I am, getting freaked out because, apparently, we speak the same language now. Who knew."

Castiel took a moment to process, feeling something almost akin to disbelief. "Dean," he said. "You need never thank me for taking care of you. And as for speaking enochian- I know that’s not what it was about. You didn't know what you were doing, that you were even capable of doing it. Of course you found that frightening."

Dean gave him a sidelong glance, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "When'd you get so good at reading people, huh?" he asked, his dry tone drifting closer to a murmur’s softness. "I remember when you couldn't tell tears from tomato sauce, but look at you now."

Cas grinned gently, blue eyes alight with fondness. "It would seem you aren't the only one with a heightened capacity for empathy," he remarked, hoping the comment wouldn't strike a nerve and finding that hope vindicated, when Dean laughed, the tense manner of his body relaxing.

In that comfort, there was something in the air, like the sensation of Dean's buried feathers against the spectral echoes of his own; and somehow, the former warrior of heaven could imagine no feeling that was better. He wanted to give this comfort, wanted to let the Winchester feel as he did.

"...would you mind if I showed you something, Dean?" Castiel asked, tempted to extend a hand and only just deciding against it.

Dean opened his mouth as if to say no, but he stopped when their eyes met, color brushing color and one’s spark of light looking only to soothe that of the other. _Trust me,_ the gaze of azure whispered, without having to make a sound.

And for all he didn’t trust himself, damnit, Dean knew he’d trust Cas with his life.

“Sure, Cas,” he said eventually, his voice more quiet than he’d meant it to be. “Lead the way.”

The trencoated angel moved to stand a few feet to the left and shrugged off his outermost layers, carefully setting them aside and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt the way he did whenever they trained.

"This isn't something most were taught before I arrived on earth," Cas said, "but...I find the exercise a source of comfort, whenever I feel overwhelmed. It has helped me greatly. I would hope that it might help you as well." Dean stayed silent, and so Castiel cleared his throat, stretching the muscles in his neck and inhaling deeply before slowly, raising his elbows to alignment with his wrists.

"Just copy my movements, Dean," he murmured.

Cas began, only subtly at first, but what filled the room as the rhythm built was a slow, hazy pulse; coming to life with every tracing arc of an arm, every tilt of a shoulder, every shift in pressure against the ground. Cas almost looked like he was dancing, the decisive angles of his form controlled yet freeing, as if his very _being_ were his partner and rendered nearly tangible in the space around him.

Dean wasn't sure where to start, but he did as he'd been asked, trying to mimic the trail of fingers against the air's expanse and somewhat awkwardly mirroring the bend just below the knees.

And then, as the soft, weaving patterns started to interlace...he began to catch glimpses of what he'd seen that day on the field, of what filled his eyes when the words _"you're beautiful"_ had tumbled from his shivering lips. This dance, this invisible sound that felt as though it would never leave their ears, it was opening him up, making him feel lighter, warmer. The world was in clearer focus, but utterly _softened_ at the same time, and the guiding glow of Cas's energy began to reflect itself in his own. His grace wanted to float to the surface, to slowly coalesce amid the space he occupied, and the echoes of where his wings wished to emerge swayed like stalks of bamboo in a gentle breeze. He nearly let it in, nearly let the inhibitions fade away as they so dearly wished to.

He wanted them to dance together.

But then he remembered.

The dream.

The way he'd felt during, and then after what he'd seen.

He couldn't relive it, the power, the _fear,_ and so he wrenched himself back, _away,_ clamping down with so much sudden, desperate force that the ceiling light above them shook in time with the grace that was torn from the air beneath it.

"Dean?" Cas asked, freezing and then stepping forward, reading the expression of pain that crossed the seraph's face but finding himself unable to understand, unable to sense from where it came.

Dean clutched his head, bending forward, trying to tug the internal straitjacket back together, but found the energies that had been bound until now no longer willing to be so. They wanted to give him balance, after him fighting, refusing it for so long, tying their efforts down with an iron vice. They wanted to continue down the path that Cas had coaxed them to follow, they wanted him to understand that _he and they were not separate, that they were_ one, _but he-_

 _"Ol trian chis-ge,"_ he gritted, eyes pressing shut as grace flared and the invisible shadows of his wings darkened over the groaning walls behind him. "Ol trian- _I will not-"_

 _"Dean!"_ Cas called, before the seraphim fell to his knees, and the runes in his back began to sear through the fabric of his shirt. He let out a strangled cry, the sound like one of shock. "Dean, you have to listen." Cas dropped to the ground in front of him, small sparks falling from the roof but of little consequence to his attention. "You're losing control." Castiel received no response, and so after a moment's deliberation he forced his hands through the radiating aura, placing his fingers close beneath either side of Dean's trembling jaw. His eyes flared in response to the power now coursing through him, but he bit past it, prioritizing the knowledge that a grounding mechanism was a necessity. "You need to let it out, Dean. This isn't a battle you can fight."

"I- I can't," the Winchester gasped, head just barely kept from jerking back as the molten blaze pushed its way up the veins in his neck, crawling like a soldier digging their way through a muddy trench. His jaw closed around a biting cry, and his knuckles were white, clenched tight enough to compress shards of carbon over the back of his neck. "Damnit, Cas, I can't let it out, I-" He wanted to, if only to make it all _stop,_ but he was overcome by the force of the fight, overcome by how he couldn't stop the tug-of-war that paralyzed him through the fear, the sensations, the adrenaline and the impulses all unable to settle. Vaguely, from the corner of his vision bled the smell of smoke, flannel burned through by the sigils embedded in his skin and the invisible feathers roiling beneath his spine like oil on the verge of spilling. "Cas," he said, the prayer slipping from his throat the way it had that night alone in his room. "Please. Please, _Castiel."_

Cas's heart wrenched in the middle of his chest, and he found himself staring into Dean's eyes, hearing the broken _lurch_ that was a plea for his name.

And in that moment, he just couldn't pretend anymore.

He moved closer and forced his grace into Dean's, their eyes going alight like a star in mourning, and he tried desperately, with everything he was to pull the _love of his life_ from the edge.

"I _will_ save you, Dean Winchester," he vowed, more strongly, with more conviction than he'd ever before had the courage to bear. "Listen to me. Let me keep my promises."

Dean's energies could feel him, and they could feel what he was no longer willing or able to restrain. In Castiel, they recognized release.

_Release._

The storm slowed as if in consideration, reducing that moment to a crawl in time, and the seraphim looked into the being whose hands still gripped him tight; the one whose hold had never wavered, never truly let go, for even a moment since the day they'd met. Because everything he felt was now there for him to read. There for _him_ in every way.

His one _true way out._

And so Dean leaned forward, having made his decision, and met the mouth of heaven with his own; surrendering everything, all of it, at long, long last.

Their energies collided, and sparks flew from the ceiling above them, but neither one could care, the sensations amid their cores resounding like fireworks all on their own. Cas pressed closer, the moment's heat and the freed reaches of himself, of everything he was, _deepening_ in every moment wherein their souls tangled and their hearts were set ablaze. Their lips were sweet and soft and _aching,_ the force of emotion driving a world gone awry to balance, and long wings found emergence from the aether of their hold; feathers folding over and under their every touch, like a swell of embraces pouring forth amid a gale of passion in its purest form.

The vanes whispered into every inch over which they trailed, and slowly, the lost essences found their way back to alignment, the angel who was once a man feeling himself at last restored to the forefront of his being.

Which meant, even though they'd just come together...it was time, for them to let go.

“Castiel,” he voiced, his aureate eyes aglow with grace like shining suns, and his murmur rich like the sound of thunder.

The one to whom he spoke could feel that this moment, _their_ moment was approaching its end, and so the former warrior of heaven only nodded in response, biting down on a lower lip and leaving one last mark of his love beneath the sigh of Dean’s nose. _"Trian chis-ge vandruxgal ils,"_ he whispered, the words thick with an emotion he'd never before been able to express. He promised, once again. _I will not leave you._

The seraphim let his eyelashes flutter, and leaned into where the other angel's hand pressed to the side of his cheek, allowing the energy, the tension, the struggle to ebb away.

_Release._

He'd finally found it.

With a sigh, the rivulets of energy diffused, and Dean blinked dazedly, the green of his eyes blurring- as if losing grip on full memory of where he was. "Cas?" he rasped quietly, trying to remember why his throat was hoarse, why his lips seemed coated in honey, why he felt so weightless even when kneeling against the ground. Why he was balanced against the callouses of a familiar hand, its tender warmth humming where it brushed the edges of his skin. His wings sung like reeds in a lagoon, easing away from the draping enclosure they'd formed and up into the air, but the sensation of something, of something _extraordinary_ lingered against them in a way he couldn't describe. Couldn’t explain.

The pain was gone, but something else was gone with it.

"What…I...I let go," he stammered. "Why...why did I let go?"

Of the conflict in his grace; and though he didn't know it, of the one who'd just given him everything.

"Don't worry, Dean," Cas reassured him with a murmur, allowing his aching heart- in the wake of the one time it'd reveled in the light, to sink back behind the walls he knew he'd never see torn down again. "You're safe."

The seraph nodded blearily, and watched the hand he'd felt drift away from his face, fingers trailing against the air as if wishing they could hike their way back to the forest of stubble where they'd been rested.

“How did we...the floor?” he shivered, the empty echoes of a memory he couldn’t place in tandem with the sensation of ashen, peeling flannel that exposed the stretch of his back all prompting his wings to fold in, remaining above ground but close together to preserve their heat. He felt they shouldn't be out in the open, but he left them, at the behest of something else. Something he'd let _go._ Cas stood and helped him up, their fingers brushing, but the only acknowledgement of it was a stiffening that neither of them had the energy left to register.

“You are still weakened," Cas said in answer. "What brought you...us, to the floor was the best way to aid you.”

Dean nodded once more, but his eyes darted, like somewhere in the sluggish firing of his brain he knew there was something he was missing. Before he could figure it out, however, they’d walked down the halls and arrived at his room, and Dean was being sat down on his bed.

Castiel turned to leave, but the seraph’s feathers rose, their aura extending a silent plea.

_Stay?_

The angel knew that if he looked back and didn’t see the same question in Dean’s eyes, he’d break.

He couldn’t do it.

“Good night, Dean,” he murmured, and his voice was only just rough enough to keep the rest of his swirling, nearly drowning emotions away.

So he closed the door, and began to walk;

Convincing himself, if he must, that it was simply all a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHHHHHHH.


	16. However Much You May Recall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everybody! Hope you're all off to a good day!
> 
> The song recs to go with this update are Give Me Something by Seafret and Hey Child by X Ambassadors, because they fit with the chapter, and because they are in _many,_ places, songs that fit the dynamic of destiel. Like, Hey Child is basically Cas singing to Dean. Give Me Something could be either one to the other. Go figure.
> 
> I swear, what happens in this one wasn't meant to be it's own chapter, but apparently it takes me 3k just to get the boys out the door. Whoops.
> 
> Anyway, now, without further ado: let's see where on the scale of "idiots in love" to "colossally _blind"_ Dean and Cas fall today. (I swear, there was a time when I wasn't planning on including destiel in this story at all, but I can hardly remember it).
> 
> Hope you enjoy ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh! Something I wanted to throw out there-
> 
> Check out the dash of a friend of mine, ApocalypseLater, who's recently begun posting works [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApocalypseLater/works) on Ao3. Short original period pieces, dystopia, great stuff overall.  
> So proud of them for putting themselves out there!
> 
> :)

When Dean awoke, his mind was a haze, and the ache in his core that had been a near constant over the past week was somehow balmed, soothed, in a way he didn’t recognize. He felt warm, inside and out, and blinked his eyes to feel something shift over his head, suddenly realizing it wasn’t sheets that covered him from almost head to toe.

It was his wings.

He willed the feathers to lift, and rolled over with a groan, leaning sideways off the edge of his bed and trying to get his bearings. The long primaries had curled to create almost the enveloping shape of a nest, and the sheaves beneath were layered over him like a blanket, the whole thing disquieting in nature even though it seemed like it shouldn’t be at all.

Dean moved to sit up, and his hands went down over a section of the vanes at his side, eliciting a hiss of discomfort before he looked down to find two shafts, then a third, slipping away into his fingers.

 _Right,_ he thought. He hadn’t been taking care of them.

He sighed, and pulled the throbbing section over into his lap, massaging the extensions of himself the way he would a muscle in his leg until they calmed, until his eyes closed and he felt he might be a step away from falling back asleep. He then looked down at himself, and saw that the shirt he was wearing had partially fallen away, the area around where his skin ended and the feathers began more or less a gaping hole. “For god’s sake,” he muttered, slipping the torn fabric from his shoulders and tossing it at the wall. “Damn thing just got fixed like a week ago.”

He stood and stretched, and he was mindful of how far he let the wings rise with the knowledge that after a certain point, they’d hit the walls.

He shuddered.

The echoes of paint and brick scraping against outer layers of down had still yet to fully leave him.

He bit his lip and directed the vanes back beneath his skin, ignoring the longing protest that they stay outside and retain their freedom for just a little longer. He didn’t think about just how close to his own heart those desires seemed to be, didn't think about how while he felt more stable...he didn't feel completely human. But, his- _the,_ wings...he hadn’t let them out on his own, had he? Certainly not just now.

And the night before…

Somehow, he remembered next to nothing, for a reason he couldn’t place.

_You let it go,_ his mind told him, but that reminder didn't fill in the blanks.

 _Can angels get hungover, or something?_ he asked himself, rubbing the back of his neck and walking over to his dresser to grab a shirt, once the gateway in his back had sealed and the swaying plumage was tucked away. Somehow, it looked like a hangover could be a possibility. He knew Cas had once imbibed enough liquor to turn his mind to a haze, that one time during the apocalypse in the year after they’d met.

Cas.

He felt like he was forgetting something important.

-o-o-o-

When Dean walked downstairs, Castiel tried his hardest not to flinch, to not betray the way his heart longed to race after the memories of the night before.

 _Let him come to me,_ he thought. _Please, please let him remember._

"Hey, Dean," Sam greeted from where he was sitting down at their table. "Just curious...did you feel anything...weird, last night, like some kind of shaking coming from the lower levels? I could've sworn the one of the lights outside my room shorted, but I couldn't figure out why."

"Uh...not that I can remember," Dean answered, sitting down, and glancing over to where the room's other source of grace sat at his brother's left. "Morning, Cas," he said, and found that the other angel's eyes were searching, something sparking where their lines of sight met in the air.

_Visions of blue, of ocean; of green alight with grace sliding over a hand, cupping the other's jaw like it might break._

The both of them went still.

"You guys...okay?" Sam spoke up, clearing his throat and watching the two angels blink, as though they'd been stunned to silence when they met one another's gaze. Dean's brow furrowed, like something was gnawing at him but he couldn't retrieve the memories, and upon reading this, Cas could only look away.

"Yes, Sam," the former warrior mumbled, hiding whatever that had been back behind its walls where it belonged. "I believe you should tell Dean about the phone call you received shortly before he entered the room."

“Phone call?” Dean asked. Sam opened his mouth to explain, but Dean took a moment to try to make eye contact with Cas again, his efforts all coming up unsuccessful. _What the hell was that?_ he wanted to ask. He wanted to take Cas into the hall and get him to talk, ask what they’d felt just now and _why was it so familiar,_ but the other angel wouldn’t look at him. Dean was tempted to reach out and read him, but it was like Cas had withdrawn. He couldn’t explain it, damnit. What the hell was he missing?

And what did it have to do with whatever it was he’d let go of?

“Dean?” the younger hunter who’d been speaking, but didn’t get the feeling he was being heard, prompted, just barely resisting the urge to wave his fingers in the air. “You with us?”

“Yeah. Something about…” The seraph took a second to process whatever had just been said. “A job? Out west, a killing in an inn?”

“Yeah,” Sam confirmed. “Guess who called it in.” He paused for a moment, but Dean didn’t guess.

“It was the war veteran you two met, and saved from the influence of the worm-like creature that had infected him,” Cas said, his gaze remaining tied to his lap. “I believe his name is Cole Trenton.”

 _“Cole?_ Is he okay?”

_Damnit, Cas, why won’t you look at me?_

“Yeah, Cole is fine,” Sam answered. “The inn where the case might be is in his area, but he wasn’t there. Just caught wind of the story and thought it seemed like a case for us. It looks like the owners left a staff member, uh, one...Timoné Garcia,” he read, turning the laptop in front of him to provide a photo, “to close up the booking office entrance for the evening. But when they got there the next morning, she was dead, her throat slashed and her body just outside the doors. No evidence of robbery, according to the reports, the keys to the building were still in her hands. Local PD are calling it some sort of animal attack, but…”

“It never is one, is it,” Dean finished. “What are we thinkin’, a vamp decided to get takeout and happened to find her, a wrong place wrong time kind of a deal?”

“Maybe. There’ve been a couple cases like this scattered around the town in the past handful of years. It’s worth checking out."

“Alright. We ready to go?”

Sam stared back at him, mouth opening but for a moment no sound coming out. “I...are you sure you’re up to it, Dean?” he asked. “Just yesterday you were still taking it easy, weren’t you?”

“Sam, you asked me this last time, with Crowley, and I’m telling you,” the older Winchester answered, crossing his arms loosely, but firmly over his chest. “I’m good. You've got nothin’ to protect me from.” _And you couldn’t protect anything from me...however hard you tried._

“Last time you hadn’t just been blasted to the floor by a banishing sigil,” his brother reminded him. “If you need more time to heal, you shouldn’t push it.”

“Tell me this, Dean,” Cas spoke up, his visual focus still drifting just over a section of tile in the floor. “Does your grace feel...stable? Do you believe your energy is in a place of calm?”

Even if Dean didn’t remember what had happened, if what they had experienced in one another had worked in the effort of healing in some way...Castiel thought...then it was worth it.

The seraph fought for the trenchcoated figure’s gaze once more, but gave up with a sigh, glancing down at himself and blinking once, then twice- brief spikes of energy rising to the green beneath his eyelashes before quickly fading away.

“I think so, yeah,” the Winchester said, exhaling deeply, and Cas did the same in answer, his eyes closing once in a relief of the purest form.

“Then I believe you will be alright.” Their eyes brushed, and Dean wanted to smile, but he was quickly passed aside, and Castiel had instead turned fully to face Sam. “You said you would call him back, did you not?”

_Damnit, Cas-_

“I’ll send him a text. It’s a short drive, so he said he wanted us to come by for dinner after we check out the crime scene and talk to the couple that owns the inn. It might be nice, honestly,” Sam said, leaning back in his chair. “You’d get to meet him for the first time.”

“I don’t know…” Cas said, his brow furrowing slightly. “Would it not be more helpful if I stayed behind, and continued our efforts to gather research?” _Where I wouldn’t have to watch Dean, not remembering?_

“Cas,” Dean said, “you need a break, a home-cooked meal. We all do. You’re so tense I can practically sense it.” He felt Sam’s eyes on him at that, and he cleared his throat. “Maybe more than ‘practically,’” he muttered remedially.

The other angel stiffened, but finally gave in, nodding and staring down at his vessel’s shoes. “Alright,” he relented, somewhat heavily. “If you and Sam would like to go to the crime scene...I’ll try to familiarize myself with the area, keep an eye ‘peeled’, as you say, for anything out of place. I can meet you and your friend for dinner afterwards.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Dean said, grinning, and slapping a hand over Cas’s shoulder once he’d risen to his feet. But beneath his fingers, there was a flinch, something swelling to meet his touch and then pulling away. He reached for it, acting on instinct and curiosity, and then all but gasped, something in him faltering. Weightless.

He felt the echoes of heat over his lips, a sensation like spectral rainfall over his head, but he didn't know _why,_ or where these things were coming from.

 _Last night?_ he almost wondered.

_But how?_

“...I’ll go get changed, pack up the car,” Sam said, standing and quickly heading away to his room.

The two angels were alone, and something in the air was like a fog.

“Cas?” Dean asked, drawing his arm back to his side, and then walking around and bending forward to try and catch the downcast gaze. “Cas, what’s happening? You won’t even look at me.” The seraph swallowed, for a moment fearing the worst. “Cas. Last night, did I hurt you?”

Castiel’s face jerked back, brows rising. “Last night?” he repeated, his voice barely above a breath. _Does he...?_

“Yeah, last night. I remember you and me, talking in the sparring room, but then…” he looked away, a crease rising to his forehead in frustration. “Damnit, all my head tells me is that I let it _go,_ whatever the hell _it_ is, but I don't know what, only that I woke up wrapped in feathers, and now you won’t look at me, and I-”

Cas fought the twisting burn trying to will its way from his core, pressing the emotion back. “No. No, you- you did nothing wrong, Dean," he said quickly, only stopping when the other body relaxed. "The only thing you let go was...tension, an ache that had been building inside you since the beginning of your recovery. I suppose amid that release, your mind simply released everything it could, including your immediate memories.” _Including me._ "I promise, I am fine. I'm simply...feeling the effects of staying inside for so long, as you said." He gave a small smile, forcing the drained pinch in his expression to fade. "I am glad you slept well," he finished, his tone genuine as it softened. "You appear to be feeling better."

Dean blew out a puff of air, briefly wiping a hand over the roughness of his face. "Maybe," he said, eventually. "I don't know. But if you think so, then...I'm glad to hear it." He began to walk towards his own room, so he could get changed as well, but then he turned for a second, looking at the other angel who had yet to move from his chair. "Hey, Cas?"

"Yes?" Their eyes met, but this time, the way the world softened was reduced to something subtle.

Something warm.

"Did I...get around to saying thank you, last night? I know I meant to after you showed up, but I…" the Winchester broke off, smiling softly. "'Know what? Thank you for being here, Cas," he said, the words intentioned. "Even if this makes me some sort of broken record."

"Always, Dean," Castiel replied, and then moved to get ready as well.

_Always._

-o-o-o-

Dean was messing with the cuffs of his fed suit as he walked into the garage, both his brother and Castiel already there loading up the trunk.

"Damn, are these things always this itchy?" the seraph complained, half under his breath, pulling at the collar and trying to get the sandpapery cloth to sit still.

“I think you're just more sensitive now," Sam responded with the hint of a good-natured smirk. "Let me know if you want to buy some silk sheets."

"Says the ‘holy father’ who doesn’t know how to sit still in his robes while we talk to the witnesses," his brother blew back dryly, eliciting a scoff in answer.

"Dude. It was one time. You mixed up that stupid itching powder with the detergent at our motel."

"Whatever, bitch."

"Jerk."

Cas closed the trunk and stood by the backseat, waiting for the brothers to finish.

"Hey, uh, last call if you need to stretch, or something," Sam said, glancing at Dean before moving to get in the car. He received only a furled brow, and made a hand gesture in response. "Your wings," he clarified.

Dean paled slightly, and cleared his throat, fidgeting with his collar once again. "I'm good."

"Dean...I'm pretty sure I haven't seen you let them out all week," Sam said, after a moment of hesitation. "Are you sure?"

The seraph stiffened beneath the lock of twin pools of concern, and he could hear his heartbeat in his ears, pulsing as he began to swim in the rising wavelengths of worry and doubt. "Yeah," he gritted, trying to reinstate his blinders, to keep the empathic sensations away. "Yeah, I...I let 'em out this morning. Figured out how to make them fit in my room." The older hunter was satisfied that he'd answered and so pressed his hand over the metal of the car, reaching blindly for an anchor, for anything to tie him down. He resisted the urge to let his weight sink and instead blinked heavily, breathing deeply and extending himself with as little thought as he could devote.

Cas murmured something to Sam, and the younger hunter opened the passenger door, unable to quell his worry but stepping away to give them a second if they needed it.

Cas walked around the car and stopped just short of Dean's side, allowing his grace to open, just enough for the seraph to sense it. "You're alright, Dean," he murmured. "Just breathe. Find an anchor."

Dean nodded. He inhaled, and held on to the energies coming his way, letting them comfort him, ease him back to a state of equilibrium. "Is this...is this what happened last night, Cas?" he asked, breathing out as the last of the stirred tension settled to rest. "I don't think I'm forgetting now."

"What happened last night was a fraction more...severe," Castiel said, choosing his words.

"So what Sam mentioned, about the lights going out?" Dean pressed. "I did that?" _If I did it once, I might do it again._ Fear, he could feel it once more, but this time it was his own.

"Dean." Cas's eyes were clear, and unavoidable. "On all counts, I do not believe it is an event that will repeat itself." _You don't have to be afraid._

The Winchester opened his mouth to protest, but Cas silenced him with a look, a mix of reassurance, firmness and sincerity proving the perfect cocktail.

They got in the car, and Sam looked at them, trying to gauge whatever had happened. “You good, Dean?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“...okay,” the younger brother replied, getting the feeling he wasn’t going to receive any answer more complicated than that. Dean clearly didn’t want to explain, but Sam knew without that, he had almost no basis to understand. He decided to ignore how that stung, just a little. “Did you...veil your grace?” he asked, somewhat awkwardly.

The seraph stiffened, and then rolled his shoulders, getting a typical laugh to fall from his lips. “It’s just a vamp job, Sam,” he said, pulling out his keys and stopping just short of guiding them into the ignition. “How many demons do you see in west Kansas these days?”

Cas frowned slightly, and Dean met his gaze in the rearview mirror, lips briefly pursing as he did so. _I’ll be fine, Cas,_ he tried to say without saying anything, and he felt the other angel relax, trepidantly but surely in response.

He turned back to the steering wheel, twisted the ignition, and swallowed, taking a second to get a grip and remind himself of his code of conduct. Cas may make him...feel, safe, somehow, but that didn’t mean anyone was. He didn’t want to use the energies within him to hide, to feel them being the only thing to give him solidity, and so he did his best to fold it all away instead; hesitantly at first, but soon packing it into the corner of his being as calmly, and as quickly as he could. (That calm was only a little shaky). Whatever it was that threatened to overwhelm him, he couldn’t let it. Which he now understood meant pushing slowly, until once the restraints were in place, they wouldn’t be popping their lid unannounced anytime soon. He suppressed a nerve-ridden breath, and dropped his foot over the gas, ignoring the way the two passengers glanced at him, and then one another.

All this other crap could wait.

It was time to hit the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyy, not a horrible cliffhanger! (BUT AHSKDKSJ I KNOW I'M SORRY THEY'LL GET TOGETHER EVENTUALLY I PROMISE)
> 
> Teasers for next time: the brothers arrive at the crime scene, only to find that things are more than what they'd seemed. And Dean gets recognized- but not how you might think.  
> (Ominous writer noises~)
> 
> Also, another note: I've mentioned this in a few comments I've replied to, but Dean's recovery from...everything I've put him through, has actually progressed a bit less roughly than I'd initially thought it would. I'm a handful of chapters ahead of posting, and I promise, we get through this, and if all goes according to plan we won't be looking back. just in case that's something for yall to look forward to :)
> 
> So, yeah; I'll see you guys there!! Your comments are the _best,_ it makes me such a happy person that I get to read and respond to them.


	17. (The) Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody! Welcome to our story's first crime scene. (Very exciting). 
> 
> And oh my gosh, wow, we've hit 40k in here!! :D  
> Thanks so much for making it this far with me. <3
> 
> The song recs to go with this chapter are Call Me Al by Paul Simon and the cover of I Saw Her Standing There from the movie Yesterday (the Tracks On The Tracks OST). You might get why I picked these as you read the chapter, hahaha.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another note. Switched up our line breaks again! I actually like this one, I think we're gonna stick with this for the foreseeable future. I also finally figured out how to center them with HTML tags!  
> Yay formatting XD
> 
> ////
> 
> Note from me a few months in the future: I've now gone back and centered all the section breaks in the chapters before this. (Also? I really, honestly, abused section breaks in the first few chapters of this. Wow. I am sorry that you guys had to deal with that).

It took only a few hours to make the drive, so the sun was still up by the time Cas was dropped off at a local diner set against a strip of forest, and the brothers made their way towards the crime scene.

Most of the police assigned to investigate had dropped back to their stations for a report, which meant that beyond yellow tape and a small fluttering of CSIs closing up, the boys had little legitimate bureaucracy standing in the way of the weirdness that generally followed them. “Hi, I’m Agent Fitz, this is my partner, Agent Bennet,” Sam said, the two of them flashing their badges for a man who stood, cross-armed, watching the proceedings with pain beneath the crevices of his expression. “We’re here to talk to the owners, about the body found yesterday?”

“Yes, that- that would be my wife and I,” the man said, swallowing and straightening in his stance. He was older, likely in his fifties, with wrinkled olive skin worn by time and a salt and pepper beard to match fresh shadows beneath his eyes. “She’s inside...if you could follow me?” Despite how shaken he was, he hadn’t forgotten his air of hospitality, and so Sam nodded gratefully, motioning for his brother, who was staring at the body, to snap out of it and come along.

“Dude,” Sam whispered, while they made their way towards the back entrance. “What were you looking at?”

“It…” Dean tried to answer, his mouth dry, but shook his head like he couldn’t do it. “Nothing.”

“Dean.” Sam wasn’t beneath pressing on this, especially if it turned out to be relevant to the case.

“Fine, alright?” the older hunter relented, keeping his tone hushed so the innkeeper wouldn’t overhear. “I think- damnit, I think our vic was like me.” He swallowed. “What I am," he ground out.

Sam’s eyes went wide, and looked up to see the man they were walking behind approach his wife, giving him a signal that they’d only be a minute. “She was a _seraph?”_ he said, rounding on Dean. “How is that even possible? How do you know?”

“No, she wasn’t-” Dean cut himself off, pressing his brows into the side of his hand and forcing himself to breathe. “No. She hadn’t done the thing with the crypt yet. As far as anyone is concerned, she was human. But she _would’ve.”_ He dropped his wrist back to the side, something in his gaze growing distant. “In a handful of years, maybe, if she was in the right place.”

The younger Winchester was still staring, and Dean cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably beneath his suit. “Her soul hadn’t been collected by a reaper yet, Sam,” he said. “I can keep myself from seeing those, most of the time, but hers...I had to look. I just _knew.”_ He shuddered. “Damned freaky angel shit,” he muttered.

Sam opened his mouth to say more, but instead of indulging a topic that was only making him more uncomfortable by the minute, Dean motioned sharply to where the couple were conversing quietly and made an ‘after you’ gesture, reminding his brother that they had a job to do.

The other hunter sighed, but nodded, leading the charge and heading the innkeepers’ way. “Hi, uh, agents Fitz and Bennet,” Sam reintroduced, reaching out to shake the woman’s hand. “You and your husband would be…the Lancasters?”

“Yes,” she confirmed. “I’m Moria, and you’ve already met Don.” She was a solid-built woman of roughly her husband’s age, with darker skin like chocolate that carried a slight natural shine beneath its surface. “I’m the one who found Timoné. Don was the last one here to see her, the...the night before, about an hour and a half before office closing hours.” She shook her head, biting her lip, and looked down to where her fingers twisted over her wrist. “That girl would’ve gone places, someday.”

Don rubbed the back of her shoulder, and Sam’s mouth thinned in sympathy.

“Did she have any known enemies?” Dean asked, speaking up and drawing their attention to him. “Anyone in her life or around town who might’ve had it in for her?”

Moria’s gaze widened as it moved to land on him, and she took a nearly imperceptible step back, but she cleared her throat, willing herself to answer. “No,” she said truthfully, answering the inquiry in spite of the knowledge that the local sheriffs had told her this was an animal attack. “None that I know of.”

Dean met his brother’s eyes and gave a subtle gesture, and Sam nodded in return.

“Would it be all right if I took a look inside?” the older hunter asked the couple, motioning to the rest of the lobby. “Just for the sake of routine, while my partner here listens to what you have to tell him.”

“Of course,” Don answered, nodding. “Go right ahead. Let us know if you need anything.”

Dean tipped his chin in acknowledgement before heading off, and once he was out of direct sight, decided to sweep for EMF- despite the reports they’d read clearly pointing to signs of a vampire or werewolf attack (or really anything non-ghost-like). Because, even though it was the most logical next step...he just couldn’t go back to that body. Back to the soul, still resting inside it, reaching into a place of his mind from which he couldn’t hide. _What’s with that, anyway?_ he questioned silently, the thought accompanied by a slight chill. _Since when do reapers leave a soul alone this long?_

By the time the seraph rounded the two main halls and circled back, Sam was just finishing up, handing the couple business cards with their phone numbers and asking if he could take a look at the security footage on their desktop. Don took the ‘agent’ with him to make that happen, and so Dean recognized that now it was time to wait, crossing his arms and staring out into the area above the fireplace. His thoughts were so thick they could’ve been made of fog, evading him like the embers in the flames beneath his unfocused vision.

Because...that woman’s body...and his abilities _...all_ of it…

Why?

What was the _point?_

“You like that?” came a voice from his side, and Dean was quickly pulled back to his surroundings; turning to find Moria standing next to him, giving a nod to the inlaid mantlepiece. The wooden fixture she was referring to was intricately carved, every line painstaking in detail, and nearly whispering with the strength of the memories it contained. “My husband and I spent a summer on that, back in the day. First part of this inn we ever built.”

“Hm,” Dean hummed appreciatively, taking it in properly and finding that despite his typical tastes leaning away from...things like this, he actually did feel something when he looked at it. _Great,_ he thought to himself. _I’ve turned into one of those millennial hippie chicks that hang around museums._

There was a moment of silence, and so he tilted his head and met her gaze, unsure of what this conversation was. “...Mrs. Lancaster-”

“Moria,” she told him.

“Moria,” he repeated, nodding. “Did you...need, something?”

She huffed good-naturedly, and a slight crinkle deepened beside her eye, looking him over as though for the sake of confirmation. "What," she asked, the question rhetorical, and softened by a measure of awe. "A man with...light, all but bursting from his seams, who says he’s an FBI agent, walks into my inn...and you think I'm not going to be curious what's on his mind?"

Dean blinked once, then twice, trying to figure out if he heard her correctly. _“Light?”_ he asked. For some reason, it felt like his heart had gone still.

“It’s like it’s...tucked into the corners of you,” she said, squinting slightly. “Certainly not something I see every day.”

_What?_

_It is referred to as the Sight,_ a memory of Cas’s voice echoed through Dean’s head, providing answer where the rest of his memories failed him. _Certain people, special people, can perceive my true visage._

_I thought you would be one of them._

“I-” The seraph cut himself off, unsure of how to tread. “Have you seen this before?” _She looks at me, and she doesn’t see human._ The thought shook him in a way that made his fingers clutch together. Something told him she noticed.

“A few times, here and there. I know about the angels, and the gift I possess, if that’s what you’re asking of me,” she chuckled gently. “But you...you’re different. I don’t know how.” She looked up into his expression. “Are you an angel?”

Dean’s lips pursed, something in his eyes becoming pained beyond their exterior before he could push it away. “...yeah,” he said eventually, shaking his head, the admission all but making his stomach twist. “I didn’t know about it until recently, though. I’m as good as any other person around. Or maybe worse.” He laughed, the sound a little mirthful, if a little dark as well. “Definitely not a holy roller, of any kind.”

The corner of the older woman’s mouth rose, in humor and disbelief. “A _new_ angel, huh? I take it you’re still adjusting?” she asked. She bit her lip, hesitant to continue, but something about him told her to push on. “Maybe it’s none of my business, but I...I look at you, and I get the feeling you’re afraid of yourself. The way you’re clutching that light like it’s the devil reborn, trying to keep it away. Am I wrong?”

The hunter glanced away, his jaw tightening, but that subtle vein of fear once more found the side of his face.

“Hey,” she said, thinking for a moment, and then resting a warm hand on his shoulder. “This might not mean much, but I know what I see, and when I call what’s inside you _light…_ I mean it. I can’t even imagine how this happens to a person, or what kinds of things you might be feeling because of it, I can’t. But the only thing being afraid gets you is the bottom of a bottle, and a hole too deep to climb out of.” She could sense her words reaching him, slowly, and she let her fingers fall back to her pocket, clearing her throat. “So, the next time you need to, if you can keep that light roped up the _right_ way, agent Bennet...then I suggest you do that, instead of this messy attempt you’ve got going on here.”

“...I will.” He pulled at his collar, the motion loose, despite the lingering discomfort. “And...it’s Dean,” he decided to tell her. “Dean Winchester.” He gave her a smile, and shook her hand anew. “My brother and I aren’t really FBI,” he admitted, “but we weren’t lying about why we came out here. We’re gonna get to the bottom of what killed your girl. You have my word on that.”

“I am...beyond grateful, to hear it, son,” she told him, needing no more than a beat to wrap her head around it. “If you need anything...you let me know, alright? Don’t hesitate to give us a call.”

“Thanks.” Dean opened his mouth to say more, maybe to ask a question about other angels she’d seen in the past, but stopped when he registered his brother walking back over, and looked up, taking in the nod that was sent his way. “Looks like he’s got what he needs. I’ll, uh...I’ll drop a line, once the things that did this are in the ground.”

She gave him a grim smile.

“Dean Winchester, I look forward to it.”

-:-:-:-

Sam and Dean headed for the Impala and sat down in the front seat, taking a second to breathe before laying out what they’d gotten so far.

“So, the tapes?” Dean prompted. “Anything?”

“Whatever it was had a hoodie on, tried to keep their face off camera, but we still saw what happened. They grabbed her by the shoulders once she was outside, leaned over her neck and then let her drop. Definitely a vamp, but…” his lips pursed. “Dean, it was like a hit. Like a premeditated kill. I’d have to check the coroner’s reports to see if there was any significant blood loss prior to death, but whoever this was, they were in and out. Fast. Too fast to feed. It looked like she died immediately, which means neck snapped, down to the bone, but that’s not the standard vampire bite at all.”

“So what you’re saying…” the older hunter tried to understand. “Is that this girl was targeted. Someone wanted her dead, that someone being either the vamp, or anyone who was pulling the strings.”

Sam nodded, and Dean fell back against his seat with a groan. “Great,” he muttered. “Just what we needed. Something complicated.”

“Hey, cheer up,” Sam told him, reaching out to swipe the side of his arm. “You’ve got an actual home-cooked meal to look forward to tonight, for the first time in god knows how long. We can talk to Cole, see if anything he knows might help, and then work this thing in the morning.”

Dean nodded, and then reached forward to start the car, deciding he wanted that evening sooner rather than later. He looked through the windshield to see Moria just inside the window, and gave her a wink before pulling out. Sam noticed, and returned his eyes to the seraph; who was steering with one hand, and immediately began to loosen his chafing tie with the other as he drove.

“Hey, Dean,” the younger brother began. “What was Moria talking to you about, back there?”

Dean glanced to the occupied seat at his right, but looked back at the road, trying to figure out what to say. “Turns out she has the Sight,” he went with eventually, not burying the lead. “And….well,” he said, his tone dry. “Guess who the surprise guest angel in town was today?”

It took a moment for the answer to click.

“...you were,” Sam breathed. 

“Wow.” He scoffed gently, shaking his head in disbelief, then murmured half to himself. “What are the odds. A pre-manifested seraph, working at an inn where one of the owners has the Sight, upon whose death another seraph rolled into town to investigate.”

“Sounds like the setup to a bad joke,” Dean remarked in reply. “Too bad we’re living it.”

Sam laughed, feeling light inside for what he was realizing wasn’t the first time in the past several days.

 _Thanks, Dean,_ he thought in the warm silence, wondering if his brother could hear him.

_I hope you find a way back to happiness too._

-:-:-:-

As the old muscle car receded from sight, a hooded woman stood and watched from the side of a tree overlooking the property, her stomach turning at the sight of the young body getting prepped by morgue workers to be carried off.

 _Whoever did this…_ she thought, the look in her pained eyes becoming cold with steely resolve, _they will regret the day they laid a hand on you._

She could feel the soul, still lying in its body, could feel everything it might have been.

 _I am so sorry, my kin,_ she wished to whisper aloud.

_I promise._

_I will avenge you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GASP. An ominous cliffhanger for legitimate plot foreshadow, and not just for causing you guys pain? Who'd have thought I had it in me?
> 
> Teasers for next time: the boys get to take a much needed break, and so does the writer. We're talking,..to put it simply...CRACK. Nothing drastically out of tone, ahahaha, but we're gonna have fun, yall. Really. I mean it.
> 
> Also, lowkey? Cole ships destiel.  
> I don't make the rules. I just follow them.
> 
> I'll see you all there!! Thanks so much for reading!


	18. Kicking Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everybody! I hope you've all been feeling good today. (And if not, then consider this my attempt at giving you a pick-me-up).
> 
> For today's music recs, I went tasteful, and lined up for you guys Believer by Smash Mouth, Rubberband Man by The Spinners, and Don't Worry Be Happy by Bobby McFerrin.
> 
> And, actually...I've made a playlist on Spotify with all the songs I've recommended with chapters so far, and it's now reached a whopping thirty songs, so [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0utbgKHvlZyREEKFBimIgr?si=ruJlu5hrTAG1aVQO-D79rw) you all go!
> 
> Let me know if you give it a listen and/or like what you hear!
> 
> Anyway, without further ado...it's time to razzle dazzle, ladies and gents. Feel free to drop a comment if I had you laughing at any point ;)

After about fifteen minutes on the road, the brothers had arrived at the address, and threw casual clothes into a bag over their arms so that they could change after they got inside.

“Hey, Deano!” Cole called out once he opened the door, greeting him with a solid thump on the back. “How’s that betting pool on Sammy’s bangs, huh? I still in the winnin’ bracket?”

“Nice to see you too, Cole,” Sam said, suppressing a laugh and a roll of his eyes at the mention of his hair. “Hope we’re not too early.”

“Nonsense,” Cole drawled, a smile on his face as he held the door open and motioned for them to come inside. “Wife and kid are out of the house this weekend, so you’re doin’ me a favor.”

“Didn’t wanna dig into this one yourself?” Dean asked, setting the bag down and pressing the looped-up tie in his hand inside the zipper. “You did pretty good out in the field, hunting and otherwise.”

“Nah, I’m not lookin’ for any action. I don’t know things that go bump in the night like the two of you, that’s for sure. Besides, I figured it’d be nice to see how you were holdin’ up, maybe give you boys a break.” He grinned. “Certainly looks like you need it.”

“Well, hey, you had us at the mention of food,” Dean told him, returning the jovial expression with one of his own. “Hope you know what you got yourself into.”

Sam’s phone buzzed, and he pulled the device out of his pocket, quickly checking to see who the message was from. “Oh,” he said aloud, “looks like Cas is gonna be here soon. Guess we’re all early tonight.”

“Glad to finally get to meet him,” Cole replied. “The way you boys talk about him, you’d think he was some kind of saint.”

“Ohh, yeah,” Dean remarked knowingly. “He’s an angel all right.”

Sam smirked, and reminded himself to clarify whether they’d explained that to Cole the next time he got a chance.

Meanwhile, the older hunter looked up the stairs, recognizing the rough layout of the house and guessing the bathroom was probably right down the hall. “You mind if Sam and I go change real quick? Just gotta get these fed threads off and then we’re all good to kick back.”

“Yeah, yeah, help yourselves. I’ll get the drinks out of the fridge. Sun’s goin’ down, so bottoms ought to go up, right?”

Dean laughed. “I like how you think.”

They headed up and changed, and came down just in time to see beers clinking against the table, and Cas’s cab pulling in outside. Sam went out to the driveway to bring the angel inside, and Dean let himself sink against the nearest sofa cushions with a contented groan, no longer feeling stifled by the starched fabric that had been driving him and his senses crazy all day long.

“Why won’t anyone believe the FBI does casual Fridays, huh?” he asked out loud, as if questioning the universe itself. “We’ve got the badges, who cares if we decide to prioritize _breathing_ over fancy suits?”

“The badges are fake, Dean,” Castiel’s voice came from the direction of the door, the hazy presence of his grace softening the air as he entered the house. “And I believe the clothing is for reinforcement of professionalism.”

“It’s an oppressive, socioeconomic construct,” the disgruntled seraph muttered beneath his breath, and Sam’s eyebrow raised as he took an armchair to the sitting room’s right, not having expected those terms to show themselves in his brother’s vocabulary by a long shot.

 _What?_ said the indignant look he got in response. _I read._

“So, this is the Castiel I’ve heard so much about,” Cole said, setting down the bottle opener he’d just rinsed and retrieved and reaching out to shake the trenchcoated figure’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you, brother. The sound of your name’s been rung like a church bell ‘round these two.”

Cas squinted slightly, but chose to accept that as a good thing, sitting down in the open space on the sofa to Dean’s left. “It is a pleasure to meet you as well,” he replied. “Sam and Dean have spoken very highly of you. I believe I now know why.”

“Pfft, because of his taste in bottle openers?” Dean snorted. “Wait til you eat the man’s food or hear his stories, Cas. The good stuff’s yet to come.”

While dinner was readying on the stove, the men spent the remainder of the afternoon trading random remarks over the first movie they found on TV (which happened to be the original Jumanji), and Cole didn’t know if the showing’s timing was genius, or horrible. Cursed objects? Hunting to survive? The reality check humor was priceless.

“Come on, don’t tell me this Alan clown wasn’t about to throw up the second he got spit out. Corralling a lion, no sweat, no stop in front of a trash can? Please. That’s bullshit.”

“Dean, not everyone has actually been forced to travel through dimensions.”

“Yeah, well, misrepresentations like this are a damn insult to those of us who have.”

“Misrepresentations? Huh.” A pause to smirk. “Color me surprised.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re not the only one who reads.”

“It’s just, the last time you used a word with that many syllables was when you were sixteen, and trying to-”

“Alright, rabbit boy. This is where you cram it. We agreed that never happened.”

A laugh. “But you somehow managed to-”

“No. You finish that sentence, I tell these guys exactly what happened the night you accidentally ate half an edible. And I mean parts of the story even _you_ don’t remember.”

“Jerk. You’re the one who handed it to me. I swear, if dad had shown up two days earlier-”

“Oh come on, bitch, you were asking for it.”

“You’re an idiot.”

While that (and more) went on, Cas contributed mostly in the way of providing Cole context for some of the topics broached, though for several even he was at a loss. (He made a mental note to find out what an ‘edible’ was later. Something told him it was probably anything but).

“Travelling through dimensions?” the less informed of the humans in the room asked aloud. “They’ve really done that?”

“It has happened to the two of them on multiple occasions,” Cas answered, leaning closer so his speech could be heard over the ongoing banter. “Once, for example, a being trapped the three of us in a series of mirror environments based on television shows. I believe it was midway through the events of the Apocalypse.”

At this, Cole startled, unsure of how to make heads or tails of that sentence given that the other man was being perfectly serious. “Wait, what?”

Sam heard, and suddenly realized this needed to be explained properly, tensing and quickly grabbing the remote from the armrest. “Nope, okay, we’re pausing the movie.”

The ensuing conversation was possibly even more entertaining than the ones preceding it.

-:-:-:-

After a brief summary of the Apocalypse was delivered, just before dinner was ready, (“top brass upstairs wanted their prize fight, and believe us when we say they were dicks about getting their way. Half of everything would’ve died if that went down. We made it work, though. World kept spinning. Somehow we survived, so that’s a bonus. Also got to meet Cas because of it all, actually, so double bonus. The end.”) and a few sparse questions that quickly petered off in favor of the shake of a head and the mutual understanding of “I don’t think I need to know,” the four of them ate their fill, heading out to sit on a gathering of lawn chairs overlooking the clear sky above them.

Dean, to his credit, appeared to have remedied nearly all hesitation towards food, eating as much as he wanted (though he did go a little easy on the beer, since he wasn’t really sure how that affected him yet), without having had to fake the fact that he was enjoying it. Even Cas ate a little, since he’d decided he’d like to participate in the meal, and found himself pleasantly surprised.

Within the hour, plates were cleared more times over than any normal humans (even accompanied by a pair of angels, one of whom was Dean Winchester) should’ve been able to achieve, and all of them sat back with a sigh, content to let the substance of conversation resume once the satisfaction of their stomachs settled in.

“So...besides apocalypses and the bit that brought you down here…” Cole began, popping the cap of a fresh beer and lifting it to his lips, “do I want to know what you boys have been getting yourselves into these days?”

At this, the brothers shared a look, well aware of what the most consuming events of their recent lives had been. _Do you want to tell him?_ Sam asked silently. Dean shifted against the fabric of his chair and glanced over at Cas, a sliver of uncertainty penetrating his hazy aura.

 _“Ils ghe page,_ Dean,” the other angel murmured in reassurance, speaking just loud enough for Dean to hear him. _You are safe._

Cole grinned slightly in surprise as he witnessed the brief exchange and smirked in Sam’s direction, opening his mouth to say something when Dean cleared his throat, evidently having come to a decision.

“Well, uh,” the seraph began, scratching the back of his neck, “it turns out I’m an angel now, so there’s that.”

Cole blinked at him once, then twice, and tipped his furrowed brow, about to make a comment, when Dean- reaching out and finding Cas’s gentle energies like a stabilizing force over his skin, let a measure of his restraints drift like mist; allowing the light of grace to penetrate his eyes and the shadows of what suffused his wings to extend over the space behind him.

“I- holy _shit,”_ the other man said, nearly dropping the bottle that was in his hands. He leaned closer, squinting into the glow, the power he could somehow _feel,_ and looked up at Dean as though seeing him anew. "You- you're saying you're an _angel?"_

The hunter nodded, blinking to carefully return himself to normal, and Cole leaned back, giving a drawn out whistle in response. "I gotta tell you, Deano, I was expecting a lot of things from you both...but I sure as hell wasn't expecting that."

"Yeah, neither were we," Sam said, a humorous twitch in the corner of his mouth. "It's been a couple weeks now since we found out, but it still gives me a shock for a second every time I see the wings."

"Wings?" Cole repeated, eyes widening. "Hang on, now,” he said, smiling in affronted disbelief. “You're tellin’ me you've got _feathers_ hidin’ under there, Winchester?"

Dean forced himself not to look away, fighting off how exposed the nature of that question left him. _Maybe I could try to wipe his memory,_ he thought on a whim, before wincing at the very notion of doing that to anyone (despite admitting to himself that at this point, even though he didn’t actually _know_ how to do that, it could prove better than the alternative).

"Yes," Cas spoke up in answer, and it was as if he was daring the other man to belittle them. He likely wouldn't have said anything, but he couldn't help it, couldn't help it when the memory of those very vanes tracing the arcs of their shoulders together was still so fresh in his mind. _Control yourself, Castiel,_ he reprimanded, and then returned to quiet.

Cole simply looked into his expression, trying to find his way to what lay beneath the stones over the angel's thoughts, but Dean cleared his throat, disquieted by the odd sense of tension. "Uh, yeah, Cole. I do," he said in final response, taking a moment for a long sip of his beer. "But no," he continued, a preemptive smirk on his face. "I'm not gonna do a fashion walk for you."

“Aww,” Cole drawled in disappointment, closing off with a wink. “Come on, Deano, you sure you wouldn’t enjoy it?”

Sam snorted, and Dean shot him a glare, shoulders rolling in annoyance.

“Well, that one time you let me touch them,” the younger Winchester began, “that’s definitely what it looked lik- oh god, _Dean, no, please,”_ he broke off laughing, throwing his hands up in fake defense as his brother rose and made a move as if to silence him physically.

“You are damn lucky I can’t screw with your brain yet, Sammy,” Dean told him, shaking his head and sitting back down. “Don’t think I won’t be waiting to get you back.”

“Hold on, you can...?” Cole started to ask.

Dean laughed, the honorary hunter’s startled reaction genuine and bringing the seraph (who could sense it if he tried) no small amount of amusement. “Relax, Sub-Mariner. Your thoughts aren’t on the table. _Yet,_ anyway,” he added for the sake of indulgence.

“I doubt they would be at any point in the near future,” Cas spoke up, “but Dean is currently capable of reading and manipulating certain emotional wavelengths, which I believe does count as a form of influence over the mind. He’s taken to it quite quickly.”

"I can also smite demons, apparently," Dean tacked on to the list. "Not totally sure how it works, but I did it once, a week or two ago when we got conned into sitting in on a business meeting with the king of hell."

Cole let out an appreciative whistle, nodding and committing the information to memory. “Well...if I ever need something like that, I know who to call, now don’t I?”

Dean laughed, and as he did so, the other man began to stifle a yawn, checking the time and finding it to be late enough that evening had officially turned to night.

"I guess that's our cue to get going," Sam said, beginning to stand and gathering the empty dishes within his reach. "Thanks so much for this, Cole."

"Whoa, come on, boys," the home's owner told them, crossing his arms. "You've helped me out more than once. Least I can do is let you crash here for the night."

"Oh, you don't have to-" Dean began, but he was cut off.

"Guest rooms are upstairs, Deano. You three can take your pick. No way I'm letting men who've saved my life- and the world, apparently, drive out to some motel when I've got a perfectly good home right here." He read Dean's expression, and then grinned, continuing. "Don't try to argue with me, big bird. Wings or no wings, I will fight you."

The older Winchester blinked, the comment catching him utterly off guard, and Sam laughed as his brother sputtered, taking over the verbal repartee.

"Alright," the younger of the brothers answered, accepting the hospitality with a laugh. "We'll clean up out here, then. Fair's fair."

They packed up quickly, and the laughter-filled night was all but over.

 _Wings,_ Cole thought to himself as he fell asleep, and he smiled, shaking his head.

_Dean Winchester…you will never fail to surprise me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random note because I wanted to share: when Dean calls Cole 'Sub-Mariner' that one time towards the chapter's end, there's actually a reference in mind there. For those of you don't know, Namor, the half-human half-atlantian king of Atlantis in the Marvel comic universes (also known as the Sub-Mariner), has had his mind manipulated by Professor X (Charles Xavier, a high-power mutant leader who has very strong psionic abilities) in the comics, on multiple occasions. Once, in particular, Xavier got freaked out after something went down between the two of them, and wiped Namor's memories of him and the encounter in question. So there you go.
> 
> If anyone caught that, you are a LEGEND, and I fully expect you to tell me in comments so I can shower you with praise for your beautiful mind.
> 
> *coughs*
> 
> Anyway.
> 
> Teasers for next time:  
> ...yikes.  
> I-  
> NO STOP DON'T SLAM YOUR COMPUTER PLEASE LET ME EXPLAIN  
> The next piece was meant to be like a mini-chapter, just a little bit of softness and something I really wanted to address, but then...it turned into its own 2k+ chapter, and long story short...we're back to feels. It shouldn't hurt too bad, but I've been more or less officially barred from saying that about my own writing by several of you, so I can only hope that stands. We get some conversation between the brothers, and then time and words between Cas and Dean. (Hhh)
> 
> Regardless of any of that, though, you guys are the best. I'll see you next time, I can't wait to see what you think <3


	19. Out (To Find A Way Forward)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heyy, everybody! Winter holidays are coming in strong in the northern hemisphere, so I wish you all a safe and wonderful time and you start ringing in the final legs of 2020.
> 
> I was planning to post tomorrow, but woke up this morning and thought why not a day earlier. Spontaneity!
> 
> The songs to go with this chapter are Cold, Cold, Cold by Cage The Elephant, and Cry, Cry, Cry by Coldplay. You might figure out why as you read. The all C's and triples was honestly a coincidence, by the way. Love it when our brains dish out things like that.
> 
> Without further ado, here we go! This chapter might hurt a bit, but if I did my job well...hopefully by the end you'll be feeling a little better? Feel free to drop a comment if you'd like to vent out any reactions, hahaha.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! See you in the notes!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a couple of quick reminders, because it's easy to forget little details while a story is posting:
> 
> Timoné is the name of the girl (the un-manifested seraph) who got killed outside the inn (which you can read about in chapter 17), and if you don't remember what happened when Dean "let go", (of the straitjacket around his grace as well as his memories of the whole event, which involved he and Cas), then revisit the end of chapter 15 and the beginning of chapter 16.
> 
> I give these things references that are folded into the dialogue, so I just thought I'd issue a brief refresher for you guys.

They had retired for the last stretch of the day about thirty minutes ago, and Dean and Sam were alone in a simple, but comfortable bedroom, Cas apparently having elected to remain downstairs and do whatever it was he did at nighttime.

Dean lay back against the sofa-like seat to the left wall of the room, and he wasn't occupying the bed- due to the knowledge that he was less likely to really be able to use it. He felt like he was healing, calm but _alive_ enough not to sleep, and his thoughts were filled, wringing and winding themselves through everything that he'd been forced to contend with over the course of the day.

Currently, his grace wasn't mostly bound, for one of the first times since he'd begun devotedly shutting it away. There'd been something telling him not to tie it back down ever since he’d let go for that little reveal downstairs, and while it made him anxious, it was something he couldn't help but listen to. So, as a result...the empathy he'd mostly been able to keep under wraps lately was unavoidable, which meant he knew his brother wasn't asleep yet, and he sighed; able to feel a sentiment like a fluttering butterfly wishing to find purchase, and break free from the confines of silence. (Encouraged, in part, by the gentle, loosening lull of alcohol and sated hunger).

The seraph shifted his arms beneath the weight of his head, and looked over with open eyes that glinted, just so, despite the dark.

"...Dean?" Sam began, as if on cue, finally coming out with it. "Not asleep?"

"No," Dean answered. "So spill. I can tell you've got something to say."

The younger Winchester bit his lip, and breathed deeply. "It's just a question, but…"

"Out with it, Samantha."

"What do souls look like?" Sam asked softly, all but blurting it into the open. For a moment, the air was still, suffused with the brushes of innocence woven into every emotion from which the question came, and the reborn angel had to hold his breath, the energies within him gently pulsing to take in the sensations and then allow them to diffuse.

"Where's this comin' from, huh?" he asked, rubbing his eyes, wanting to hear it from Sam himself.

"Dean, you- you can _see souls._ You can _feel,_ so much, I know you can." He inhaled. "...can you blame me for wanting to know what that's like?"

 _Damnit,_ the older hunter thought. Of course this kid would be enamored with things that made him feel unstable, more unstable than a nuclear reactor.

"If I'm being honest?" Dean said. "I've been kind of...keeping that stuff under wraps." And it _was_ honest. The way he'd been keeping his grace in check, within confines, it meant that his empathic abilities had mostly only shown when he deliberately went looking for them, or if Sam and Cas got worried enough that he couldn't ignore it. Seeing souls, _feeling_ things, he'd been pushing it back, avoiding it. The coveted Dean Winchester Way. But now that he wasn't...holding himself _back_ all the goddamned way, he knew, he _knew_ that all he had to do was tilt his head a little, and he'd see right inside his baby brother. He'd be able to know nearly everything that Sammy was feeling, and _damnit,_ he didn't _want_ to know.

"You saw Timoné's soul," Sam said, his voice quiet. "I can only assume you've seen mine."

Dean felt his shoulders tense. "You're right," he admitted, something unknown begrudgingly driving him to honesty. Maybe a momentary knob of guilt, of shame over the knowledge that other people couldn't hide from him anymore, however much that fact made him want to hide from them. "I saw it on...when we were on the field. Right after I let it all in. I saw Cas, and I saw you, unfiltered." Sam said nothing, waiting, and so Dean continued. "It's...freaky, Sam, and it's freaky because it isn't freaky because it's _you._ Your soul is _you,_ and _damnit,_ it was so bright I wanted to cry like a little girl. You happy?" He rolled over so he was facing the wall. He wanted to punch it.

The room was quiet.

"You're not alone, Dean," Sam spoke, something building in ripples beneath his chest. "I want to help you through this, and to do that I need to understand."

"You don't want to understand this, Sam," Dean told him, the words catching over his lips. "If you think you do then you need to turn around." _I've seen the rest of this road, and it doesn't go anywhere good._

"And then what? We live, you keep fighting yourself, I die, and then after that nothing changes?"

Dean flinched, like he'd been stabbed right through the chest.

"Shit." The air went still. "Dean, I didn't mean-"

"No, it's fine," the older hunter told him, his voice scathing, sitting up and trying his hardest not to let this anger rise. "No point in pretending that some day, if we're lucky, I'm not gonna have to watch you age, and _die,_ and just keep drivin' around because that's never going to happen to _me._ Nah, I'm not going to have to spend _centuries_ on this stupid planet, with nothing but Cas, if he sticks around, and six _stupid_ wings that I'd rather trade for my goddamn, _human_ brother." He got up and began to move for the door, but Sam beat him there, standing in his way.

"Dean." The younger hunter's stance was solid, but his aura was edged in silent plea. "I'm not leaving you, any time soon. Your lifespan- we don't have to think about that, not now, we just-"

"Just _what,_ Sam?" Dean ground out. He stepped forward, his eyes itching to flare, and he didn't stop it, aware of feathered shadows casting over the wall behind him. He reached forward with his mind, forcefully sifting through whatever emotions he could find, and searched for that cold vein he knew as fear. He wanted to make Sam afraid.

Because damnit, _damnit,_ that's how afraid he was himself.

"I'm not afraid of you, Dean," Sam said quietly, sincerely, and he stood there, breathing in but not backing away. "And you know I'm not lying. So if you want help learning how to accept yourself, come and talk to me." He stepped out of the way, leaving the door free and clear. "Blow off some steam if you need it. I think Cole's backyard is big enough."

Dean's face burned, but he turned his head away, forcing the heated energies to shut themselves inside. The shadows receded, and he walked harshly from the room, ignoring the itch over his spine and the way he felt too much shame and self-loathing to even look back at his own brother.

He glanced down the hall, and debated reaching out to see whether Cole had managed to sleep through the tense confrontation, but he was stung by the very thought, like he was an idiot for forgetting he couldn’t trust himself. _Look at what I just did,_ he thought, wrapping his energies as tightly as he could and feeling so frustrated that he wanted to reach down and rip the grace right out of himself.

He shivered.

Somehow he knew how painful, how abhorrent any attempt at that would be.

He looked down the stairs to where a small desk lamp was perched over a copy of Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse Five, and once he approached it ran his finger over the binding, realizing with a soft start that this must mean that Cas had finally begun to read it. He looked around in the darkness, trying to locate the angel in question, and then felt a slight draft from the back door as if in answer; looking to his left to find the back door slightly ajar, and a trenchcoated figure standing and staring up at the sky.

Though why exactly he wasn't sure, he walked outside, closing the door behind him before stopping at his companion’s side. “Hey, Cas,” he said. “Isn’t it a little chilly out here?”

“I do not perceive the cold quite as strongly as you, Dean,” Cas said in reply, welcoming his presence in stride. “But, yes, I believe it is.”

“You...stargazing, or something?” the seraph asked, looking up, and trying to follow Cas’s gaze. “Vonnegut get boring?”

“No, the story was...very insightful,” Cas told him. “‘A funny book at which you are not permitted to laugh, a sad book without tears’. I found that review to be quite accurate, fascinatingly so. I simply did not believe I could focus well enough to process the full meaning, and decided to take a break.”

“There something on your mind?” Dean loosened the cross of his arms, turning to the side just enough to meet Cas’s gaze.

“It’s…” The angel faltered. _What can I say, that isn’t you, Dean?_ he wondered.

“It’s nothing.”

Dean gave him a look that read, _you sure?_

Cas said no more, and Dean blew out a breath of air, sighing into the night.

“Well...I just blew up at Sam,” he spoke aloud, deciding to fill the space between them with something, even if it was his own shame. “Grace in the eyes, shadows on the wall, the whole nine. Didn’t even try to control it.”

The trenchcoated figure’s posture loosened in a mix of concern and open eyes, and turned Dean’s way, listening to nothing else.

“He...he was askin’ me things, Cas. About soul-peepin’ and the whole _empathy_ thing and the other crap I can do now.” His chin fell to his sternum, and he didn’t stop it. “All the crap I’ve been avoiding as much as I damn well can.”

Cas lifted a hand, slowly, and lowered it to Dean’s shoulder, the touch feather-light but so _present_ that Dean felt like it would never go away.

“I’ve just been...I don’t know how to adjust to all this, and I…” He broke off, shaking his head. “Damnit," he cursed quietly. "He didn’t deserve the things I said to him.”

“What did you say?” Cas prompted gently.

“I told him that...someday when he's gone, and I’m still here, it’s gonna hurt like a bitch, and then I tried to scare him. Damn it all, he said he wanted to understand, but I look in the godforsaken mirror and all I see is crap I’m _afraid_ of, and-”

"Dean."

Cas stopped him, because the seraph's eyes were red, his voice shaking in time with his fingers. "Damn...emotions," Dean choked out, raising his chin and trying to get a hold over himself. Even with his grace pulled like tendrils of tin foil into a ball, he still couldn't escape all the ways he'd changed. He laughed weakly, and his weight subconsciously leaned further into Castiel's palm, pressing closer as though it was a lifeline. "God, it's like a midlife crisis, only ten times more real."

"I'm here, Dean," Castiel murmured. "Let it out, if you must."

"I don't want to let go again," Dean whispered, those words still echoing in his mind. "I still...I _still_ don't even know what I let go of, the last time."

He thought he might've been remembering, but the slowly reforming images of fingers trailing in the air, and feathers whispering into something that felt like _warmth_ had disappeared after his fight with Sam. After he closed back up.

"Letting something _out_ is not the same as letting _go,_ Dean. You taught me that." Cas smiled gently, and let the other body shift closer to him, trailing a weightless finger over where an arc of runes rested just above a shoulder blade. "A way out is a way in. An open door can let someone leave, yes, but it is just as easily the thing to bring them home."

"But how can- what the hell can I even do with that, when the things that leave are just gonna come back?"

"You can move forward."

 _"How?"_ Dean whispered.

"You move forward, because these things will always change before you see them again, Dean. So all you must do...is wait."

Cas looked into his eyes like they were the stars one last time, and then dropped his hand from the well-loved shoulder, leaving a single gift behind before he walked back into the house.

The scent of rain, like the song after a storm…

And the echoes of what had been let out, but would surely bring them back together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUH I'M SORRY
> 
> Teasers for next time:  
> BIG THINGS.  
> There's a plot event I've been planning for almost as long as I've writing this story, and it finally begins as of the next chapter. I can't wait for you guys to read it! To stir intrigue...you guys remember the cliffhanger of chapter 17, the mysterious hooded woman?
> 
> Just keep her in mind.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, you guys! I hope you're having a beautiful day <3


	20. Follow The Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heyy, everybody! Big things this chapter!
> 
> The song recs to go with this update are Hey, Soul Sister by Train and Immortals by Fall Out Boy (a couple this-century classics, if you ask me).
> 
> I can't believe we've gotten to twenty chapters! Thank you all so much for sticking with me this long. I promise, there are many more to come.
> 
> I don't know if I'll be posting again before Christmas, so to those of you who celebrate it, I hope you have a wonderful holiday! To those of you who've been celebrating Hanukkah, I hope that's been wonderful for you as well, and the same goes for every other winter holiday that I'd list if I were confident I'd get them all. Happy holidays, everybody :)
> 
> Without further ado, here we go!
> 
> Time for our mystery woman to make her debut!

Cole offered to let them stay the next day, but Sam and Dean told him they would be fine, thanking him again for the previous evening and gathering up their belongings to leave.

The drive out was quiet, tense in a way none of them wanted to admit was familiar, because the two Winchesters had still yet to speak more than a few words to each other after their confrontation the night before. Sam seemed unangered, but he was aware now more than ever that his brother wasn’t having an easy go of things, and he didn’t want to be shut out.

That, however, was definitely what was happening, and so he’d resorted to aiming his emotions directly at Dean, in a somewhat childish, but hopefully workable strategy- trying to prove his lack of fear and that if he could understand, maybe it would help.

For better or for worse, after about ten minutes of this, Dean threw a hand down over the steering wheel, unable to take it anymore, and reached down to activate angel incognito mode; because despite how much he didn't want to let the stupid, radioactive-substance-like grace flow around at all, drawing on the heavy filters that came with the deal was the only damn thing he could do to keep his brother's abuses _out._

A haggard look was thrown between them, and neither one made further comment on it.

They parked outside a diner that Cas had been dropped off outside the day before, near an outdoor field overlooking a local forest, and they made their way inside; picking a table and placing an order for breakfast while Sam took out his laptop, and pulled up the notes they'd been able to compile on the case. "Seraph...pre manifested," the younger Winchester mumbled under his breath, adding bits to the bottom since he hadn't done so the night before.

"What?" Cas asked, picking up on the words but finding he didn't know what they pertained to. "How was a seraphim involved in this?"

Sam looked at Dean, suddenly realizing neither of them had told Cas about they'd found out at the crime scene.

"The victim," Sam explained, looking back at the older angel. "She was like Dean, before the crypt. A seraph, on the inside, but not manifested yet."

Cas's eyes widened, surprise and shock permeating the rings of rich blue. "How do you know this?"

The younger hunter returned his gaze to his brother, and cleared his throat, gently giving the seraph present his cue to break the matter's silence.

"I saw it," Dean recounted mutedly, not quite meeting the gaze of either of them. "Her soul. Glanced at the body, and then, boom, angel vision kicked in. No warning." He fingered the side of his head, squinting like he had a headache, but then let the restless hand drop back into his lap. "Not that any of this crap comes with warning labels, anyway," he muttered under his breath.

"The kill looked premeditated, Cas,” Sam said. “Our best guess is that it was some kind of vamp that did it, but I've got the coroner's first reports, and they confirm no major pre-mortem blood loss. So whatever their reason was...maybe this was related."

"But how?" Castiel began to ask. "There is no way, no conceivable way for them to have known…"

The words began to bleed away, drifting like foam against a shore, and Dean felt a resonance, something tugging gently at the veils over his grace and beckoning him to let it in. A soft...soft ringing, almost like something he knew…

"Dean?" Sam asked, pulling him back, the ringing continuing faintly as the other Winchester in question scratched the inside of his ear to clear it. "You alright?"

Dean looked at him, and then Cas, meeting their mildly concerned eyes with a slight gape in his mouth, before reminding himself to swallow. "Yeah, just…" he said, clearing his throat, fidgeting with the collar of his flannel and trying to push the stimulus away. "Thoughts just wandered, for a second there."

Sam leveled an expression of skepticism, but Dean did no more than narrow his eyes in response, and so the younger hunter relented, looking back to the notes in front of him. "Fine. Well, Cas and I are trying to figure out if Timoné could have been targeted because of...what she was," he amended, as a waitress walked by the table. "Do you think that would've been possible, given what it was like when you realized?"

"The hell makes you think I know, man?" Dean scoffed. “This crap didn’t come with a pamphlet from the god squad PR department, somethin' like, 'hey, here's everything you need to know about getting turned into a frickin _angel'.”_

Sam rolled his eyes at the dry response, looking to the trenchcoated (and more sympathetically inclined) figure for aid.

“Dean, can you describe what you saw?” Castiel asked, from where he sat at the seraph’s right. “Was it a marking on her soul, or her essences as a whole?”

“It was…” Dean tried, furrowing his brow, and trying to put the technicolor memory into description. “It was _her._ I looked at her soul and there were just-” He broke off, the next words tugging at his lips the ones he needed, but not ones he wanted to use. _“Gon van graungraþ,”_ he ground out finally, ignoring the way his mouth moved so easily when all he wanted to do was bite down on his tongue hard enough to bleed.

_Stars._

But not quite close enough that the English word would’ve cut it.

Sam looked at the other angel, silently asking for a translation, and Cas started to give one; but Dean didn’t listen to it, instead closing his eyes and trying to clear his head of everything except the damn hunt. Because that _resonance,_ it was welling once more at the edges of his mind, like its source was getting closer to him, and finally, he couldn’t take it anymore- deciding that he’d rather not explode in a diner if it could be avoided by finding out whatever the hell the thing was coming from.

Dean rose to his feet, his eyes locked on the air in front of him, and he moved to leave the booth, some tempered purpose clearly driving his actions.

“Dean?” Cas asked, stopping mid-sentence and standing up as well, sensing something was off.

“I’m gonna be right back,” the seraph mumbled, running a hand over his lower lip as he began to turn toward the door.

“Dean, what’s happening?” Sam pressed, blocking his path, and it was nearly a repeat of the night before, the concern playing out in his eyes, those damn, _human eyes-_

“I'll be _back."_ The words were brusque, harsh, and Dean wasn’t quite succeeding at keeping himself in check, just barely holding back the blaze of grace from reaching the surface. He could feel it stewing, and relocked his jaw, squaring his shoulders as if to make that fact clear. He’d hate himself for pulling the angelic power card later on, but right now, he wasn’t thinking about that. “Don’t follow me.” He pushed past before either of them could stop him, and walked for the exit; breathing deeply once he was outside the doors, and then trying to figure out the ebb and flow of the sensation that had drawn him out. The ringing began to buffer, and strengthen, like a wave whose crests and troughs he was making out with more clarity, and he took that to mean he was on the right track.

It occurred to him that this could be a trap, a dangerous one if even Cas didn’t seem to be affected, because it meant his new power might not give him an advantage.

But, hell. Running into things headfirst, even if they didn't have more than half a chance: it’s what Winchesters did best, wasn’t it?

He inhaled, and followed the trail, holding the side of his head as the pull grew stronger but pressing on until he reached a secluded walkway around the diner's back, and saw a hooded woman, looking at a partially obscured, unmoving body by her feet.

The chick, whoever she was, rolled up her sleeves and began to reach down, as if to finish the job she'd started, and Dean felt focus kick to his mind; his instincts as a hunter coupled with those of an angelic being surpassing the dizzying effects of what he'd followed, and driving him forward to take her on.

"Hey!" he called, breaking into a run, and reached out to strike, finding himself moving more quickly than he'd remembered in a long time.

But however fast he was, somehow, she was _faster,_ countering his one and only attempt at a blow and pinning him to the ground, all within the span of a blink.

Dean struggled, trying to escape the pressure of her hands, and he was unable to understand how he was at a loss. "Who the hell are you?" he gritted, looking up into her face, almost contemplating reading her soul to see what that could tell him.

She only tipped her head in answer, perhaps about to tighten the pressure over his neck as the hood fell from her head, when an invisible ring of grace echoed behind her eyes, and suddenly it clicked.

This was what brought him here.

The _stars._

Dean gaped in shock, the will to fight seeping out of him without a second thought, and she read this, taking a step back and letting him stand since she no longer felt him to be a threat.

"You-" Dean stammered, dumbstruck. "What the hell? You're a freakin’ _seraphim?"_

She raised an eyebrow, not having expected him to peg her, and he looked her up and down, taking in the form before him.

Rich, bronzed brown skin with a smattering of dark freckles over the slope of her nose (just above a golden piercing), and thick curls of black hair that hit below her shoulders were the things he could see on the outside. On the inside, however...she had what appeared to be a human soul.

But once again. Like Timoné.

Somewhere inside her, she had the _stars._

"You're in incognito mode," Dean breathed, understanding at last.

He sensed peace from her, if a little tension, but nothing that made it seem like she wanted to attack. When reading people, those demons back at Crowley’s meeting, hell even when reading Cas, it was different than this. He knew he wasn’t missing something.

He’d found another.

"Buddy...don't take this the wrong way," she said, loosely crossing her sweatered arms, "but who, exactly are you?"

"Right, uh-" Dean said, glancing down at himself and remembering that he was veiled as well. How come she hadn’t seen him too? "You're a seraph. Seraphim. Whatever. But I- you're not the only one." He let down his walls, just enough for her to sense it, and her eyes widened, circles of deep brown permeated with surprise. The runes over his back hummed, as if providing angelic ID, and he could tell she felt it too. "Soul-turned-grace, wings, six of 'em,” he listed off. “I've got the whole shebang."

She looked at him as if seeing who he was anew. "It's you," she said, visibly connecting something to what she knew now. "I could've sworn I felt it, seraph grace licking at someone's heels." She rolled her shoulders, a movement Dean was quickly coming to associate with the phantom presence of wings, and he cleared his throat, restoring his barriers once more.

"I'm...Dean. Winchester," he introduced, hesitating a moment, but then holding out a hand to shake hers.

"As in the _hunter,_ Dean Winchester?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Huh. Congrats on...still being alive, I guess." She laughed. "Though now I think I know why."

She released his grip, looking down at where their palms had met, and smiled, shaking her head. "Damn," she murmured, half to herself. "It has been a _while_ since I met another." She peered behind her, as if making sure the body she'd been standing over hadn't walked away, and then turned back, aware that Dean's gaze was still following hers. "I'm Akriti," she told him. "And that guy right there, in the body bag, is the vamp that killed Timoné."

"Wait, you know about that?" Dean asked, bending down to get a look at the body. Surely enough, it was a vampire, and it was utterly dead; its head unsevered, but already-decaying face forever frozen in a howl of pain.

"Yeah," she answered, lowering to the pavement so his face was within her view. "I didn't know her, not yet, but I would have. I found this guy in that dumpster over there. He had traces of Timoné’s blood in his body, so I managed to track him down. I think someone was going to come back to burn the evidence after they killed him, but had to jet." She looked up. “Either that or they’re lurking around in town somewhere.”

"The hell kills vamps without cuttin' their heads off?" the hunter muttered, fingering the blackened veins over the corpse's neck.

"I don't know. Did you come out here because of her death too?"

"Yeah. A friend called my brother, told him about the case. I didn't know she was...what we are," he said, the words coming out of his mouth shaking, but only a little, "until we got to the crime scene." _I can’t believe I’m talking to a freakin seraph._

"Mm. I wasn't too far away when she died, only a couple cities north. It's a good thing I had her on my radar. Flew down here as fast as I could."

"Wait...you _flew?_ As in-"

But he didn't get to finish his sentence, because he was suddenly registering a familiar, and tensed human being coming their way.

 _"Dean?"_ a voice called loudly from the direction he'd arrived himself, and the rookie seraph immediately realized what he'd forgotten.

"Shit," he cursed. "Right here, Sammy!" He called back, waiting for the source of weighted footsteps to come into view.

"Dean," Sam breathed once he turned the corner, as if in relief, and then took in the scene before him, the body in the bag and the woman he didn't recognize standing at his brother's side. "What? Is that-" he leaned closer to the corpse, and looked closely at the clothing, realizing he recognized it from the security feeds he'd watched the day before.

"Yep," Akriti spoke up, before Sam could continue aloud. "He's the vamp who killed her."

The younger hunter looked up at her, and slowly pushed up to his full height. "Dean?" he asked, his tone careful. "Who is she?"

Dean opened his mouth to answer, when Cas also appeared from behind the building's edge, evidently having finally found his way over. "Sam, did you-" he was saying, before he stopped, having come within eyeshot at last. "Dean."

"You're friends with another angel?" Akriti asked. "Cool."

 _"Another?"_ Sam repeated.

_Dean, what have you gotten yourself into?_

"Sam. Cas. This is...Akriti," he said, brokering the introduction. "She's another seraph. Seraphim. Whatever. Akriti, that's Sam, my brother, and...Castiel. Angel of Thursday."

"...she's..." Sam breathed, and his fingers slipped away from where his gun lay just beneath his belt. “Really?”

"Really. You can trust me, Sam," she said. "I had Dean pinned the second he showed, so...to put it honestly, if I wanted him, or you in the same condition as bloody mary over here," she told them, kicking back towards the body with her heel, "I promise, that would've happened already. I know what hunters are like.” She gave him a tip of her chin. “Thanks for not shooting first."

Sam nodded, still just a little awestruck, and Akriti turned towards Castiel, taking in the sight of his grace and glancing for the hidden remnants of his wings in the spectral plane. "I've met a handful of angels in my day," she murmured, "but few like you."

"How long has it been since you manifested?" Cas asked, narrowing his eyes slightly, in observation more so than hostility. "You appear to be skilled at keeping yourself veiled from detection."

"Well, I definitely thought so too, until Dean over here tracked me down," she said, looking over at him and giving him a grin. "Been a while since another seraph was around to pick up on me. Was it...gosh, I don’t know what else it could’ve been. The stars? Did you see them?"

The older Winchester's brows rose, and he nodded in confirmation. "Yeah, there was a...ringing, or somethin', after we pulled up out here. I followed it, and then found you, standing over the douchebag's body. Thought you killed him, whoever he was." He shrugged, but the gesture was one of apology. "Sorry I shot first, like you said. Little brother's always been the cooler-headed one."

"You're forgiven. But...tell me this, Dean," the older seraph asked, crossing her arms, and shifting her weight just so over the ground. "How long has it been since the crypt picked you?"

"Uh...give or take...two weeks?" Dean answered, trying to remind himself of the current date.

At this, Akriti let out a whistle in surprise, her eyes widening and a bubbling smile crossing her features. "And you've already got _incognito mode_ down? Two weeks in, I swear, I was still trying to figure out why someone in heaven thought a half dozen wings coming out of one person's back was a good idea."

Dean laughed. "Any chance you cracked that one?"

"Yes," she replied sincerely. "Blanket nests, and more control when you're flying."

There it was again. _"Flying?"_

Sam cleared his throat, lightly, something in him itching at the hope of him - but more importantly, his brother - getting answers. "Um, Akriti, if you…wouldn't mind...do you think you could maybe stick around, for a little bit? Just to get some insight, maybe, if you've really been at this that much longer than us?"

"Oh, I'm not taking off, not now that you guys are here," she said, turning in his direction. "You have questions. There is no way I'm leaving a newbie without a shot at a Q&A." She began to walk back out towards the section of nature-reserve-like field the diner sat against, and beckoned the others to follow. "I'll get us a table outside, over by those park benches." She glanced at the ground, and her nose wrinkled in reminder. "Oh," she added. "First things first, though.

"...one of you mind ditching the body?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You heard it, everybody! A brain cell has arrived on scene!! (Lmaoo I'm so happy you guys finally know about Akriti, I've been sitting on this for _ever)._
> 
> For anyone curious, her name comes from the Hindu culture, and roughly translates to form, or shape. You say it as if there's a subtle "h" after the "ak" and as if the "ti" is a "thi". All three vowel syllables are the same length.
> 
> Anyway, teasers for next time:  
> Team Free WIll gets a Q&A session- but Akriti's not the only one from whom the boys are seeking answers.
> 
> You guys are either going to love me and cry out in happiness, or hate me for making what I do next so emotional.
> 
> Dean is finally going to start to recover from what I've been putting him through, everyone. It's finally time to move forward.


	21. Sister Of Pearl (Strange Sights)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heyy, guys!! Surprise! I decided to update on Christmas day after all!
> 
> I've got a load of music for you today, in addition to the chapter. The title comes from two songs, Sister Of Pearl by Baio and Strange Sight sung by KT Tunstall, but I'm also tacking on Familia by Nicki Minaj, Anuel AA and Bantu, and Scared Of The Dark by Lil Wayne, Ty Dolla $ign and XXXTENTACION. If anyone can name what movie’s OST both of these last two songs are in, then call it out in the comments! Hint: it came out in theaters roughly two years ago.
> 
> I started typing about the chapter but managed to go over the word limit, so I'm gonna copy paste that bit of foreplay into the notes.
> 
> Before that, though, I'd like to draw your attention to a new collection that has officially began posting today, called the Wavelength Prompt Challenge, linked [here.](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Wavelength_Prompt_Challenge) I highly encourage you to check out everything that's been contributed, especially the works of the other authors on there! You might recognize names like the lovely Nepenthene and MagicLia16, (and mine!) but if not, then you my friend have a lot of reading to enjoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here's the bit that didn't fit in the summary, lmaoo
> 
> For today's chapter, we finally start the emotional cleanup, and whether you guys know it or not, I think you've been waiting for what happens next for a while now.  
> Before you read this, though, I'd recommend that you reread chapter thirteen, or at least refresh yourself on what happened. For context, I'm referring to the chapter where I put Dean through the dream and then the turmoil of his grace afterwards, kicking off the downward spiral of repression we've been seeing in him ever since. I promise, though.  
> It's time to begin healing.
> 
> We also get Sam and Akriti lowkey conspiring, because like I said in the tags: Sam Winchester Does Not Take His Brother's Emo BS; and neither does our new lovely seraph in town.
> 
> All in all, I thought this chapter would make a good Christmas gift to you all. Things do get emotional, though, so if you need fluff to recolor your palate, then once again, you know where to go. (Hint: The Wavelength Prompt Challenge ;) ).
> 
> Thank you so much, and now, without further ado-  
> I hope you enjoy!

Dean and Cas handled the body's remains while Sam followed Akriti to the section of outdoor tables, sitting down on the bench across from her and trying to wrap his head around everything that had just happened.

"You weren't expecting this, were you?" she remarked, placing her hands loosely in front of her and letting her expression relax.

Sam opened his mouth to ask what gave it away, but then he tilted his head, the real answer to that question occurring to him. "You're reading me," he said. His tone wasn’t hostile, but she understood, knowing that didn’t make it any easier to trust her right off the bat.

“It comes as naturally to me as breathing, ever since post-grace day one,” she told him. “I don’t read with the intent to manipulate. I promise.” She watched a leaf drift to the ground from the tree above them, and as it settled amid the grass, she assembled her next thought. “Has it been similar for Dean?”

“...Dean…” Sam broke off, looking away, and tried to figure out how to phrase it. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Our entire lives, his first coping mechanism has always been denial. End of story. Feelings? Transparency? That’s never been his thing. Now that he has these abilities, he’s used them a couple times, but more and more lately...he’s been pushing them out. He’s not…” He paused, starting anew. “Accepting, this, hasn’t been easy for him. At first things looked like they had a chance, but it’s like something _changed.”_

“And if he knows what, he won’t tell you,” she finished.

Sam nodded. “I tried talking to him about it, and I was almost watching him, _fighting_ himself. Fighting this, fighting what he is.” Sam’s aura struck a touch of pain in recollecting this, and Akriti decided, right then and there, that she wasn’t leaving him, or Dean, to figure this out all alone.

She looked up, sensing Cas and the being at his side approaching earshot, but vowed not to let this slip from her mind. “Tell me more about it later,” she murmured.

After a few moments passed, Dean reached the table, taking a seat at the other seraph’s right once Cas sat down beside Sam. “So…” he began, somewhat trepidantly. “We have somewhere to start?"

“Clue me in on what you know already,” Akriti told him, and extended the request to all three of them. “How much have you boys been able to figure out about the seraphim?”

Dean seemed at a slight loss, so Sam cleared his throat, deciding he could at least come up with a place to begin. “Dean’s figured out some, and Cas knew a little coming into all this,” he said, “but…”

“We've been able to find almost no conclusive information, through any source beyond trial and error on our own part,” Castiel continued, picking up where the younger Winchester trailed off. “I am aware of the basic history behind the seraphim’s conception, and your capacity for strength relative to the first archangels. You are capable of veiling yourselves from any supernatural or human entity, with the apparent exception of other beings whose grace shares your origin.” He looked to Dean, and then back at the other seraph. “The way Dean found you. Is this something you have experienced before? Were you aware of his presence as well?”

“It’s not entirely abnormal,” Akriti began in answer. “When seraphim make connections to one another, those connections stick. It’s how I knew about Timoné. I’d met her when she was a kid and realized she was one of us, and then continued keeping tabs on her. Losing her...I could feel it." _And I swore I'd avenge her._ "But for Dean, not knowing who I was, to find me even when the _both_ of us were veiled…” she shook her head. “This was no accident. Dean finding me was supposed to happen, for better or for worse. The stars guided him. They’re only visible to other seraphim when they’re meant to be. It’s why I couldn’t see him until he let me.”

Dean’s essences twisted, and Sam’s expression did the same.

“Honestly, though, it also speaks to how powerful he is,” she continued, and then turned, the corner of her mouth rising as she looked the fledgling in the eye. “Congrats, newbie. A rookie seraph fresh out of the nest who’s got a basic handle on hiding themselves, _and_ manages to get the interest of what makes us so special? You don’t see that every day.”

Dean seemed to pale, but then coughed once to cover it up. “You know, I also smote a demon,” he said, though his typical inflection of bravado was in truth more obligatory than it was genuine.

"Huh," she said, and Sam could tell that she was reading his brother like a book. Normally, it would put him on edge that someone they'd just met (especially someone who had the powers of angelic grace) could pose that degree of advantage over them, but Akriti...she seemed open. He didn't get the feeling she was holding back, and Dean, who had the same abilities as her, who'd been the one to _find_ her, appeared to perceive her as an ally. So if she could help them figure out what Dean wasn't saying…then Sam was all for her sticking around.

"Hey, uh…" the younger Winchester began, directing the inquiry toward the older seraph. "Random, question."

"Go for it," she said, reading his offer of trust, and the slight undertone of conspiration directed her way once those words had gotten her attention. _Very smart, Sam Winchester,_ she thought to herself approvingly, never before having found a person intelligent enough to use her empathic sensitivity as a means of silent communication. _You and I are going to get along very well._

"So...if angels like Cas all consider themselves brothers and sisters...what does that make you and Dean?" The question really was benign, because Sam was just honestly curious, but there was slight permission granted beneath it to find a shooting off point, to follow up with a question of her own and then eventually round off on Dean from there if she wanted.

Sam would've been a lawyer, once upon a time. He couldn’t often put it to use these days, but...with a brother like Dean?

There was a reason he’d been doing so well at Stanford.

Akriti gave Dean a look, and quirked one brow in tandem with the corner of her smile. "...cousins, roughly, if you really want to put a label on it," she answered after a moment. "By the logic that we didn't come from the same place, but what's inside us did."

Sam nodded, finding that made sense.

“Angel extended family,” Dean said, as though the syllables were foreign in his mouth. “Huh.” He shook his head. “Knew I should’ve grabbed a drink from the car.”

“You’d really have to lean into the buzz to get it to stick, in case you haven’t figured that one out already,” she told him. “That’s one perk, I guess. You can get drunk, ish, but only if you want to. Don’t do something dumb like throw back a whole cabinet of liquoer, though, and expect to be just fine. You won’t.”

Cas squinted, as if flashing back to that time he drank a whole store’s worth of alcohol, and decided he believed her assessment to be correct.

“Backtracking just a little bit, though...you said you smote a demon?” Akriti asked.

“Uh...yeah,” Dean answered, none the wiser to the hopeful sharpness in his brother's eyes, who knew that this was an opening. “We sat in on one of hell’s business meetings, up here, and crap hit the fan. Got a demon-killing knife through the chest.” He swallowed. “Powers just sort of took over from there.”

Akriti squinted slightly out of the corner of one eye, and it was the look of someone who might be starting to put pieces of a puzzle together. “Let me ask you this,” she said. “Have you been sleeping?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, a little, most nights. Why?”

“What have your dreams been like?”

Dean froze, in a way that was so subtle, but so immediate, that the older seraph knew she’d hit a nerve.

And just like that...she’d figured it out.

“It happened, didn’t it,” she said softly, as if in the depths of understanding. “Like looking in a mirror, but so much worse.”

“What?” Dean said, like he had no idea what she was talking about, but a part of his voice shook, just so.

Akriti’s lips thinned, and then she began in a low tone: _“ils trian...untal…”_ the very same thing that Dean had heard that horrible night, and it was all he could do in the moments that followed not to beg her to stop.

She stopped.

Sam and Cas were listening raptly, but weren’t sure exactly what it was they were listening to.

“You idiot,” the older seraph whispered fiercely, in admonishment but with the weight of _caring_ as she dug the side of her hand over her lap. “You didn’t tell them, did you.”

“That- that...did that happen to you too?” Dean’s voice was a quiet rasp, all but frozen by the memories. Of the pain he'd felt that night, and of what it had been like, living in a straitjacket of his own making ever since. Of how he had to _fight_ himself, had to _fight_ it because it was _in_ him. _Somewhere._

That thing he’d become, a being of light, able to take the world apart if he so wished.

“Yes,” Akriti told him.

“Dean?” Sam asked, the worry in him welling as he registered the echoes of hurt clearly visible in both their faces. “Dean, what did she mean? What were those words?”

"...it was enochian, for 'you shall be,' and what I presume were the beginnings of the word for 'among', if I am correct?" Cas said, his own anxiousness rising as he tried to parse the possibilities.

_Dean, what is it that could have shaken you?_

Akriti gave them a curt nod, but turned back to the angelic Winchester in question, focusing solely on him; and a determined glint rose to the grip of her stare, refusing to let him look away.

“Listen to me, Dean,” she began.” What happened to you, what you felt, what you saw- it happens to _all_ of us. The first time we pull on the big guns. It's like a content warning label when you go to check out an R-rated movie, if that movie is the next levels of angelic power. There's nothing wrong with you." She leaned over the table’s edge, staring deep into his eyes. "I know you need to hear it, so listen. There is _nothing, wrong._ You're not a danger. You're not a bomb waiting to go off. _None_ of it. You’ve been fighting, Dean, and I can _feel_ how you’ve been scared for everything and everyone but please, _hear_ me." Her voice slipped, and for a moment it was like she was an older sister, a matriarch, sworn to take care of her family.

“You’re _safe,_ Dean.”

For a moment, the younger seraph simply returned her gaze, his eyes still with shock. "You really mean it, don't you," he whispered, just barely above a breath.

She reached forward and slowly pulled him into a hug, a gesture so warm in its reinforcement of comfort that he forgot he’d only found her an hour before. “Yes. I really mean it.”

He damn near melted before she pulled away, and she refocused her eyes on the other angel, and the lone human sitting across from them.

“Do you want me to explain it to them?” Akriti offered gently, able to feel both members of their audience stewing, mere seconds away from demanding answers (the rest of the moment be damned).

"No, I'll- I'll do it," Dean said. "The uh…” he began, trying to find the words when his mind was still swimming with shock, and oddly dislodged pieces of enochian. “The gedun- the _night,_ after we tested the banishing sigil," (at this, he flushed, and made a gesture at Akriti, silently promising to explain that later), "something happened, with me. Uh...something I didn't tell the two of you about."

"What was it?" Sam’s voice was trying to be patient, but he was nervous, and he’d moved to the very edge of his seat.

"I...I was dreaming, and I...god, there was so much," Dean breathed, shaking his head and forcing himself to stick to the matter at hand. "But I woke up, and nothing was right. I heard...those words, what she started to say before," he said, nodding once in Akriti's direction. "Like they were in my head. The whole thing went on for a while, but eventually it stopped, and since then I've just been...tryin' to deal with it, I guess. Keep it from happening again." His head longed to sink once more into his hands.

_God, I’ve been so afraid._

"The experience is painful," Akriti put in, fully aware that Dean wouldn't bring himself to tell the whole story. "You dream of yourself as everything, as a...sea of energy. It's like you're power incarnate. It's your factory settings telling you, hey, this is what you've started tapping into now that you've pulled some heavy duty moves. This is something you’re capable of becoming. Only, then, you wake up...and you're utterly _trapped._ Up until now, your grace has been comforting you as much as possible, keeping your senses from overwhelming you, that sort of thing. You probably haven't lost control in a big way once.” She took a second to breathe, likely remembering her own experience, however long ago it had been. “But when _this_ happens...all the training wheels are thrown off. Suddenly you're a car sinking in the ocean. This experience, all of it, it's meant to make you cautious about getting power hungry. It's a rite of passage and a Pavlovian-type brand of conditioning all at once. And to seal it all up...you hear what was spoken the day your grace was born." She bit her lip, a small part of her still wavering from behind the memory's permanent mark. _"Ils trian untal kehnhagon na,"_ she recited.

"You shall be among the angels," she and Cas quietly translated together.

The air was still.

"...Dean," Sam said, finally breaking, his eyes shining with disbelief. "How could you keep this from us? You did it when all this first started, and despite everything we went through with this since then...you did it again?” The silence was heavy, and he continued. “What happened to trusting yourself? What happened to trusting _us?"_

"Sammy, I couldn't take you there," Dean whispered, shaking his head from behind haunted, resolute eyes. "I didn't want to be there, and if you'd known-"

"What, you wouldn't have been able to avoid it? Just _hope,_ tha-that you could _will_ it better on your own?"

 _"Yes!"_ Dean replied loudly, his feet planting against the ground and one hand suddenly coming down over the table. "Yes, Sam! Because if things _didn't_ get better, I was going to have to take an angel blade and _fix_ the whole damn thing myself. Don't you _get it?"_

Sam's eyes were fiery with shock, and Castiel desperately opened his mouth, but Dean shut the mounting empathic perception out, not wanting to know what either of them were feeling any more than he wanted to feel these things himself. "I'm going for a walk," he said, throwing his jacket over his shoulders and abandoning the table. "Don’t wait up."

The others watched him leave, and Akriti slowly stood, understanding of Sam's request before he asked. "Yeah," she told him, squeezing his shoulder briefly, and looking at Cas, whose eyes were misted in grief.

"I'll make sure he's okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hhhh, cleanup crew to aisle Winchester...  
> (Sorry, guys. I think we all knew this wasn't going to be a one-chapter job).
> 
> I also want to acknowledge us having arrived at 50k, because...wow. I promise, there is more to come ;)
> 
> Teasers for next time: we finally ease into an emotional resolution, but there are still conversations to be had. Akriti discovers something about Cas, and Dean had to figure out what to do now that this weight has been lifted from his chest.
> 
> I'll see you there, and I hope you're having a wonderful, wonderful Christmas day (whether you celebrate or not) <3


	22. Letting Go (What Do I Do?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everybody! This is officially this story's last update of 2020, and I cannot believe that we've not only gotten this far into the fic but also into...everything. Seriously, 2020 was three years at least. Probably more.
> 
> I wish you all an amazing start to your new year, and that when your clocks strike midnight two nights from now there's a smile on your face, and something warm draped over your shoulders (be it a friendly arm or a blanket).
> 
> I love you all, and boy, have I got a load of music for you today.
> 
> To go with this chapter, we've got Let Go by Beau Young Prince, Sinnerman by Nina Simone, What Do I Do? By Georgia Ku, and because I’ve had this song on repeat lately and last night it hit me like a bag of bricks that it makes me think of Dean, not only in general, but also in a real way Dean as he is in this chapter: False Confidence by Noah Kahan.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading. I hope that when this year ends, despite the hardships, you remember the moments of happiness too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a re-link to the Spotify playlist where I add all the music I rec, [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0utbgKHvlZyREEKFBimIgr?si=OthpScqAS2yZseLus0Pkbg), in case anyone's interested.
> 
> Let me know if you decide to take a listen :)

Akriti slowly trailed Dean to the edge of a patch of trees, and found him staring at the line where open grass bled into forest as if wondering whether or not to go inside.

“You can lower your veils, if you want,” she murmured, looking up into the leaves. “There’s nothing dark out here that can sense us.”

Dean looked at her, and then down at himself, uncertainty plaguing his gaze in a way that made the other seraph’s heart ache on his behalf.

“Here, I’ll do it first,” she offered gently, and let her borders fall like a plume of sand, the runes that returned to the skin over her back practically singing in the happiness of being free. They hummed, reaching out to the being at her right, and she rested a hand on his shoulder, sensing the unspoken wish for support. “I’ll anchor you. Don’t worry.”

Dean breathed. _Okay,_ he agreed silently. He didn’t break away from her gaze, even as the barriers fell away and grace swam to his eyes; his essences meeting hers and bringing to life a resonance, a powerful resonance seemed to burst forth from his core. His mouth wanted to open, to let that sensation out where it brushed and wove against his vocal cords, but he swallowed, the force of the feeling near overwhelming.

The moment quieted, and the ring subsided, leaving Akriti looking at him almost in a measure of pride. “You’re strong,” she murmured. “Almost a century, and even I’ve yet to feel the voice like this.”

She added the seraphim’s song to the list of things to tell him about one day.

Akriti’s hand fell, but Dean’s eyes still shone, and he looked up, finding the world around him and his perception of it nearly unhindered for the first time since the day he’d been reborn. The colors, the waves...he wanted to feel the air against his wings, the spark of life flowing over his skin. Everything.

He was still scared, somewhere inside, but the rest of him knew it.

This wasn't evil.

And _damnit,_ however hard it was, however hard it would be to believe…

Neither 

was 

_he._

“There’s a clearing over this way,” the older seraph told him gently, able to sense his desires. “No one’s around, if you want to stretch.”

Dean nearly nodded, nearly gave in right then and there, but then he stopped, his mind coming back to earth with the memory that there was something more important. “Sam,” he said, the light in his pupils receding, and the hum over his back fading away. “Sam. I- I’ve gotta go talk to him.”

 _I dumped this crap on him and then I_ ran.

“Go,” she told him. “I’ll point him towards your car, if you’d rather talk there.”

Dean nodded, and headed off, a thankful glint in his eye that he knew he didn’t need to verbalize.

Akriti crossed her arms, and watched him walk.

It had been a long time since she’d known anything like family, she thought.

This one...

This one she was going to keep safe.

-:-:-:-

When Akriti reached the table, alone, Sam stood, his aura stewing as he met her eyes.

“He’s by the car,” she mouthed, tilting her head in the direction of the area’s edge. “He wants to talk.”

Sam all but melted in relief, and nodded in gratitude, beginning to walk as quickly as his legs could carry him.

Akriti then turned her eyes to Cas, the only one left behind, and slowly took a seat at his side.

“Castiel,” she murmured, gently interrupting his thoughts; the swirl of disbelief and regret and pain that was so strong in him it nearly made her chest ache. “Cas. It wasn’t your fault.”

He said nothing, staring into his own hands, his face like a statue despite how everything beneath was all but ready to fall apart.

Because he couldn’t understand, how, _how_ he hadn’t _been_ there. How Dean, despite being everything he was to him, had gone _through_ something like that, and he...he hadn’t even been _aware,_ he _hadn't-_

“I mean it,” Akriti continued, cutting through his scathing ministrations. “When it happened, he would’ve been cut off, you wouldn’t have been able to sense it. He was the one that didn’t tell you.”

"I should've known," Castiel replied finally, intending to growl, but finding his voice little more than a hollow, gutted breath. "I should've _been_ there, if not in the moment itself then in every moment that followed when he was struggling and thought he was alone."

Akriti looked at him, at all the things he was barely able to keep concealed, and she brushed a hand in the space between them. "You love him," she said quietly, and there was no question in the statement.

The air was still, save for the ache in the angel's heart.

"Yes," Cas whispered.

"He doesn't know."

Castiel flinched, but swallowed, her assessment not wholly incorrect. "He- it is not as simple as that." Akriti’s fingers gently pulled away, but somehow the gesture beckoned him to continue. "Two nights ago…” Cas began, “I tried to show him an exercise to loosen his grace. To bring him a sense of comfort, to ease the tension. I'd thought that it was an aftereffect of his ordeal with the sigil.” At this, his tone dropped, and he provided brief explanation. “Dean, following the meeting of demons that he mentioned, convinced Sam to test an angelic banishing sigil on him, out of a misguided desire to know what it would do to him. He was able to fight it off, drawing on the seraphim’s strength deep within him, but he was severely weakened.”

Akriti cursed beneath her breath. _Of course he did something like that,_ she thought brutally.

_Idiot._

“With that toll on his grace our primary worry, I didn't know that the imbalance was the result of him...fighting himself,” Cas told her. “So once the soothing effects of the movement began to emerge, he found himself panicking. Losing control." Cas swallowed, but Akriti blinked in support, letting him know she wasn't going anywhere. "He needed release. He prayed, and I- I couldn't pretend anymore, couldn't hide how I...feel for him. And then, he... 'made a move', as I believe humans call it. He sought stability, and I gave it to him."

_I gave him everything._

"Then...when it was over, and he at last _released_ his grip on everything that had been warring within him..."

"...he let the memories go as well," Akriti finished. "You love him, and he knows it, but he doesn't remember."

"Yes.” Cas sighed, as if in defeat. “And now...I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I believed I could just carry on like it never happened, and I believe I’ve been able to, but- every time our eyes meet, grace unhindered, we- we _feel,_ what we felt before. Our essences have always been bonded, but now there's something between us that I cannot stop. I just want to be there for him." He looked down and sighed, letting his forehead sink against the back of his hand. "And of course...the only person in the world who understands is another seraphim, like Dean," he said aloud, "who we only met just this morning." He looked up at her. "To whom I have just revealed more than I've ever told any other living soul."

"This is what I do, Cas," she told him gently. "I understand so much it hurts, with just a look, just a touch, and I use that to help whoever I can."

"Can this be helped?" he asked, the question fragile.

But beneath the cracks, there was _hope._

"He'll remember, Cas," she said softly in answer. "Just don't hide.

"Don't hide, and he'll come to you."

-:-:-:-

Sam found Dean, leaning against the impala, one hand reverently, but almost nervously stroking the metal lining the side of the trunk.

"Hey," the seraph said without looking up.

"Hey."

Sam rested his weight over the car at his brother's side, and the two stood in silence, neither one sure who should speak first.

"I'm...I'm so sorry you had to go through that, Dean," Sam eventually started, quietly. "You kept secrets when something was wrong, again, and that got to me, but I was just...afraid, for you."

"I know. I just- damnit, Sammy…" Dean began in response, but his tone wasn't harsh. Only heavy. "Keeping you safe, _watching out_ for you, that- that is my _life._ I am a hunter second, and your big brother first. So what....” his voice tapered, and he looked off, a hand dropping to the pull of gravity over his leg. “What the hell was I supposed to do, when it felt like I couldn’t trust myself to do my job anymore? When I saw myself as the next power-tripping _nightmare_ that you and Cas would have to find a way to put down, if you even damn _could?”_

“We could’ve helped you,” Sam answered. “And if you really wanted us to be safe- wouldn’t me and Cas _knowing_ what you’d seen achieve that?”

“I wanted to believe that. God, I did. I mean, when I woke up after that _...hell,”_ he said, shivering at the memory, “freaked out of my mind, and Cas finally found me, _finally,_ I wanted to grab him, ask what the hell had just happened to me. But he...he didn’t even know there was anything wrong. Even though I’d been screaming his name half the night, and I just…” he paused, his eyes closing. “I shut off. I shut off, Sam. Started shutting all the energy in, keeping the powers and the senses and everything that isn’t _human_ the hell underground.”

Dean stood unmoving, but his chin had lowered to his sternum, the sheer emotional _exhaustion_ like scars etched into the shadows of his face. “It was so hard, Sammy,” he whispered. “It was so hard to _fight_ it and that scared me _shitless.”_

“Promise me you’ll stop keeping things in,” Sam said, shifting closer, setting an arm firmly around his brother’s back. “Promise me you’ll _talk_ to one of us if you’re afraid.” _Promise me I’ll never have to hear you say those things about an angel blade again._

“I promise,” Dean breathed, nodding in agreement. “I- I never want to be the thing that makes you feel like this. All...sour fruit like a kicked puppy or something." He received a look, and cleared his throat, clarifying. "Yeah. I can feel your…whatever, right now. So you’ve got it.”

“Good.” Sam paused for a moment, but then began to root around in Dean’s pockets for the Impala’s keys, and the older hunter stepped away, an insulted look rising to his face.

“Dude,” he scoffed. “...after the day we’ve had? No way in hell are you driving.”

He reached into the very inside of his jacket (one of the places Sam hadn’t gone looking), and fingered the edge of the keyring, perhaps moving to take it out when he looked up, finding Cas and Akriti approaching at a short distance.

“Got it sorted out, huh?” the older seraph asked, but her tone was gentle, the remark’s edge softened by a genuine sense of compassion.

“...yeah,” Dean answered, looking trepidantly at his brother, and then clearing his throat. “Yeah. Thanks, for, uh, lettin’ me know," he told Akriti. "About...what really happened.”

“If you keep yourself open, or veiled _correctly,”_ she said, “Then I promise, you’ll be fine.” She looked to Cas, giving him a small smile and a pat on the back. “All of you.”

The three of them took a moment, and then nodded in thanks, gratitude rich in each of their expressions.

“Hey, so...the vamp responsible is dead, which means we’re probably gonna get going- maybe see if we can puzzle the rest of this out from home. But if you don’t mind, uh…” Sam began, clearing his throat. “You don’t live around here, do you? So is there any place you think we could reach you, if we ever…?”

“I pop around,” she told them. “But then again, since you’ve got Dean with you…” she continued, one eye sharpening loosely in thought, “I _could_ give you my default address, if you’re willing to do a little work for it.”

 _"Work_ for it?" Dean repeated.

Akriti smirked. "Not the kind of work you're imagining, pretty boy,” she replied teasingly. “There's some explaining I'd need to do before you could actually get there, is what I mean, and...simply put, these two most likely wouldn't be able to follow you. But I think it’d be good for you. It would solve your lack-of-information problem, too, if that’s further enticement.”

Fascination was piqued at that, none of them seeming against it, despite their typical inclination toward wariness. “So wherever you guys hole up," she continued, "I can come to you, and...we can work from there, if you’re willing?”

“...Dean?” Sam prompted. “Your call.”

Dean looked at Akriti, trying to make his choice. He met eyes with the being who was one of his _race,_ with whom he felt a bond almost made to comfort him and whose essences felt just as familiar as the ones he’d had by his side all his life, and he took a moment, just to think. He knew bonds could always be abused, no matter what else there was between people, be it blood or debts or history. He knew people in whom they’d placed their trust so quickly in the past had stabbed them in the back. More than once. And they’d all been betrayed by family. But with this...despite the fact that he barely knew her...he could see inside her, and in her, he could see a piece of himself. They came from the same place, he could feel it; and he could see how much she cared, despite only having met them this morning. It was something real. Something he felt he should accept.

“It’s a short drive back to Lebanon,” he said at last, spinning his keys in his hand. “You in?”

She grinned, taking in his goodwill. “Depends,” she said in answer.

“Mind if I ride shotgun?”

-:-:-:-

As the four of them pulled out of town and passed one of the final city street corners, a man’s gaze followed the path of their vehicle, filing a note away in his mind whose contents none around could discern.

He cleared his throat, and stepped into the street as if with renewed purpose, glancing down at a tattoo over his bridge of his hand that fell out of focus too quickly for any passing eye to catch. He straightened his cuff, and continued onward, walking into the city’s morgue with an offer ready on his tongue for their most recent acquisition, one he knew they would accept. He smiled to himself, the expression a realm away from a look of innocence.

His superiors had gone through the trouble of using that vampire, and planting an object on the target's person to bind her soul to her body.

The creature’s corpse was abandoned to ward off any hunters, and their tracks were covered.

So now…

It was time to see if that had all been worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our plot is underway, and our boys are doing better. What a way to end a year, than with brain cells prevailing, and aching hearts beginning to mend, am I right?
> 
>   
> Something I wanted to plug real quick is a [series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/2078637) that I've started, currently consisting of a destiel Christmas oneshot that I posted as part of the [Wavelength Prompt Challenge](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Wavelength_Prompt_Challenge) and to which I will be adding a second work tomorrow for New Year's/New Year's Eve.
> 
> This little universe I've begun (where Dean is HAPPY, can you BELIEVE THAT) has pulled me in and made me fall in love with it, so I hope to see you there :)
> 
> Teasers for next time: prepare for angel things! Our merry gang all go back to the Bunker, and true to her word, Akriti gives Dean a tool she believes no seraphim should be without. 
> 
> I'll see you all next year <3


	23. Keymaking In The Shire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!! Happy new year! I sincerely hope that 2021 has been off to a good start for you, but if not, then consider this my effort at giving you a pick-me-up.
> 
> I'm actually pretty excited for you to read this chapter; I had a lot of fun doing my thing and geeking out over descriptive writing with the multidimensional angel things we get going on. (You guys know me by now, this stuff gets me very happy as a writer). The song recs to go with this update are Comin’ Home Baby by Mel Torme, Right Back Where We Started From by Maxine Nightingale, and Bones by Galantis and Onerepublic.
> 
> Without further ado, enjoy! feel free to leave a comment and let me know what you think ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little something extra: a while ago I made a doodle of seraph Dean, and thought I'd stick it in, just for kicks. No need to read too much into how I illustrated his wings or anything like that, this isn't meant to be how I picture him in this story because as far as I'm concerned, it's entirely up to you how you see him in your mind, and even in my mind it's all more ambiguous. (This was also very much a doodle, lmaoo).
> 
> If you guys would actually like to see bits of art with this story in the future, let me know, and I wouldn't mind making something every now and again!

They arrived at the Bunker by the time night had fallen, and Akriti took a look around once they pulled into the garage, giving a whistle of appreciation at the vastness of the space. “Damn,” she said, appreciative of how the words echoed around her. “Your own personal batcave.”

Dean slid his keys back into his pocket and stepped out next to her with a grin. “Damn right it is.”

“Dean, catch,” Sam called from behind, and hefted their bag over the car’s roof- which Dean caught with a slight grunt, in an almost surprisingly fluid motion. The seraph looked down at his arms for a moment, processing their strength as one would the unfamiliar. _Right,_ he thought, tightening his wrists experimentally. _More...angel stuff._

Cas exited the car last and walked forward, silently offering to take the bag from Dean. “I can reorder your weapons,” he said. “I believe there were phone calls you promised to make.”

“Right, yeah,” the older hunter said when he realized Cas was right, and let the bulk of canvas slide into the trenchcoated hands. “I told Moria I’d drop a line when the thing that killed her girl was dead.”

“Cole also made you promise to tell him when we got back,” Sam reminded him, beginning to walk inside. He looked to Akriti, who was following at their side as well. “I’ll, uh, start to give you the tour, if you want?”

The older seraph grinned. “Sounds great.”

Dean split off toward his room, and Cas headed in the other direction, leaving Sam and Akriti approaching the interior bookshelves.

"Sorry about the mess," Sam said, waving toward the papers and relatively useless mountains of dust still sitting out over the tables. “This is the library. The main one, anyway. Most of our files are in archive, but we typically pull them up and bring them out here if we have to.”

"I can see why you guys needed a better source of information, " Akriti said as she looked over what they'd recently been able to collect, and took in the reality of where they were. “This is…”

“Abysmal. I know.” Sam sighed, running a hand over his mouth.

Akriti hummed in sympathy, opening a waterlogged, redacted file and then grimacing before sliding it shut once more.

“Hey, uh, by the way…” the younger Winchester began, somewhat uncertain- but overall relieved, relieved of a burden he didn’t realize had become so heavy. “I didn’t get a chance to say thank you. For figuring out what happened to him, I mean. For starting to get it out of his head. He...he really, _really_ needed that.” He paused. “Honestly, I think we all did.”

“I know,” she said simply, fingering the edges of the wood. “I’m glad I could reach him too.”

-:-:-:-

Up in his room, Dean shot off a text to Cole, and left a message for the phone number registered to the inn. He sifted through his contacts, his eyes drifting over the names, but he paused with his thumb over one he hadn’t opened in a while.

_Mom._

He sucked in a breath.

He’d been sticking to five-syllable texts with her for weeks, ever since all this began with him. He didn’t know what to tell her, or how to ask if they could talk face-to-face.

But he couldn’t do this, not now.

The air was quiet, and Cas soon walked back into the library, followed by Dean not long after.

“Hey, do you guys have any space that’s...open?” Akriti asked, now that all four of them were present. “Enough for two seraphim and about a dozen wings?”

“Yeah, the sparring room,” Sam said, almost surprisingly cool about the request, and pointed in that direction. “We might have to stand back a bit, but the ceiling is high enough.”

“Great.”

They reached the room fairly quickly and filed inside, but Dean was visibly disquieted, unsure of what was about to happen or why the hell it would involve feathers. Hadn’t they literally _just_ gotten back?

“Okay, so...” the older seraph began, trying to put her thoughts together in a way that would make sense. “How much do you know about Michael’s crypt?”

“I had to track it down after all of this kicked off,” Dean answered, pursing his brow slightly in thought. “It looks like the thing moves around, and exists in a different...plane of reality, like Middle Earth, or something.” _Typical trippy angel crap,_ he added silently.

“Right. It’s the place that held our grace. But it’s more than that,” Akriti told him, taking a moment to find the right phrase. “Think of it as...seraphim command center.”

“Command center?” Dean and Cas repeated at the same time, exchanging a brief glance before returning their attention to her. “How do you mean?” Dean asked.

“You’re right that it exists in a different plane. Seraphs on the verge of manifesting can find it like their souls are a compass, but the way in still isn’t physically visible. However,” she continued, “after we’re reborn, the crypt and the realm it inhabits, they’re accessible to us. It’s...the closest thing I have to a home, I guess. The way heaven is for angels like you, Cas, and the celestial dimensions,” she said, nodding at Castiel, “that’s what this place is for us.”

The trenchcoated figure’s expression softened, and almost imperceptibly gave way to bated breath. Because, for Dean to get to have that, away from the threats and ugliness that pervaded the only place that Castiel might have had to offer...it was more than he could’ve thought to ask for.

“All the information on the seraphim, it’s there, mostly,” Akriti went on, blinking in acknowledgment. “It’s why you guys have been striking out so bad down here. I could answer your questions until the oceans rise, but I know you want to be able to figure things out for yourselves. And connecting with the crypt...not many of us get to do it. There aren’t many of us, period. It’s worth it.”

“So how does this work?” Sam asked, his brow lowered slightly. “Is there a gate, or a portal? A ritual, of some sort?”

“All Dean needs is a key. One seraph, already connected to the crypt, has to channel the energy they know how to access, and then help the other latch on. It can work without another seraph to guide you, but you’d need to be right on top of the crypt already to sense it, and that kind of alignment isn’t easy to achieve.” She broke off, muttering to herself. “Gave me the worst damn headache when I did it like that.”

“So…” Dean repeated. “I’d need a _key.”_

“Forged out of your grace,” Akriti explained. “It’s why we’re going to need the wingspace. For this, the code is veils down. All of them.”

Dean’s eyes flickered, trying to keep his breath from hitching. “You’re sure about this?" he asked, his voice rough in its uncertainty. "This...whatever this is?”

“Hey. You’ll be fine.” She stepped forward and placed a hand over his shoulder, the comfort that lived beneath her fingertips eddying into his veins. “I promise that this will be worth it.”

Dean bit his lip and looked away, trying to fight the urge to turn tail and lock himself in his room. He was being offered answers, information, and he could reason with that. He knew he could. But...he remembered what the crypt had felt like, the little taste he’d gotten out there on that field when he'd been reborn. It had been intoxicating. He and everything he was had been _one._ No question. It’s how he knew Akriti wasn’t lying about this.

But could he really plunge headfirst into that so easily, and expect to come back out the same?

Dean met Cas’s eyes, and then looked over at Sam, trying to find an answer.

What he saw reflected back at him, he realized...was just how _tired_ he was of being afraid.

“Okay,” he said at last. “Okay. I’ll do it. Just tell me what comes first.” _Let’s get this over with._

_I swear, damnit, that I’ll come back to you both._

“Sam, you’re going to want to stand back. You too, Castiel,” she added, moving her arms and making some space. “You won’t be harmed, but there’s going to be a lot of power exposed right in front of you. Better safe than sorry.”

The two non-seraphim in the room shuffled to stand a greater distance away, moving so they were just inside the door, and Cas gave Dean a nod of reassurance, smiling softly until he saw that the older Winchester appeared to relax.

“You ready?” Akriti asked gently. Dean nodded, squaring his shoulders, and let her make the first move.

She cleared her throat. In the time it took to breathe, her wings emerged with the strength of DNA bound around histones; feathers arcing out from the nape of her shoulder blades and spreading a dark, honeyed brown that appeared to edge into the effervescent echoes of scarlet. They were ethereal in every sense of the word, almost glowing as if they weren’t wholly of this reality.

“Your turn,” she whispered with a wink.

Dean swallowed, suddenly feeling utterly vulnerable in a way he couldn’t reconcile, but he closed his eyes and focused, carefully drawing his wings to the surface. The pooling grace that would turn to vanes bubbled and rose, welling within him and pushing at the runes in his skin until it all gave way, and sweeping plumage rose to match the older wingspan length for length in painted strokes of ink that could only be described as _angelic._ Akriti released a breath, able to feel their essences mingling in the air before them.

“Give me your hands,” she murmured, stepping forward and holding out her palms. “You’re going to feel a current, a flow. You need to hold it. Grasp it. Bring it into your own and mold it until you can feel it inside you.”

Dean was taken aback by the directness of the orders, but trepidantly reached out to meet her touch, gasping when his power _rose,_ ascended at the will of her pull and climbed to his eyes, to the expanding horizons of his aura. He was light, he was aglow, and he could _feel_ it, could feel his wings humming and brightening and spreading out to their fullest. Somewhere beyond his vision, Akriti’s eyes closed, and she began to fill her role, to facilitate the connection between Dean and the place from where they came.

 _The crypt, Dean,_ she thought, and in the midst of this linking, he could hear it. _Focus. Find it._

Dean breathed, finding himself greeted with so much more than air, and he did as he was asked, searching through the swathes of light that circled and enveloped him until he found the trickle, the approaching, flowing cord slowly winding and weaving into his reach.

It seemed so simple, somehow.

 _I found it,_ he told her.

_Then bring it in._

The subject seraph might’ve let out a gasp as he extended himself forward, and felt the sensation enter his chest, felt his grace wrapping around and through it the way aureate grapevines would seek to cover stone. He’d expected it to be sharp, jarring; but it was warm, melting inside him as though it were the supple thickness of mist curling in a ball of glass. _A key,_ he drew in his mind, and he willed the mold of grace to convalesce, to let the energies simmer and cast like iron forging weapons in the heart of a star. It was happening. Whatever this piece of him was becoming, he knew it.

His hands were released, and it was as though he were left afloat, Akriti standing back to wait while what happened inside him came to its head. The younger seraph was all but radiating light and power, his feet just barely holding against the ground, and his eyes were wide, lost to a sea of sweeping luminescence.

Castiel’s grace hitched and pulsed in time with Sam’s heartbeat, and the lone human was forced to shield his eyes, only able to look at Dean through the thinnest gaps in the bends of his fingers.

 _This is him,_ Sam thought amid the whorl, the realization dawning on him that this was likely the closest he’d ever get to seeing his brother’s true self. _This is_ him.

“Come back, Dean,” Akriti murmured, her wings pulling in, and her pupils rimmed in the power that still suffused the air around them. _“Vehun dontal un.”_

It took a moment for the words to reach. But somewhere inside, Dean appeared to register what was being asked of him, and slowly, the energies that had been mounting to their bursting point began to diffuse, easing his aura down toward its former state. His eyelids fluttered closed, and his form sighed, as if at last returning to solidity; leaving the twilight sails over his head shifting and rippling, flaring in concert as they folded in closer to their center. _“Ol gedge-”_ he began, but stopped, his voice delivering with layers of resonance no man could ever replicate. A sound almost biblical in nature. Sam’s gaze had gone wide, his hands frozen midway to covering his ears, and Castiel felt his heart start in a way he wasn’t sure would ever stop. “I have it,” Dean spoke again, still with the faint rumble of thunder, but the grace in his eyes then faded, his wings folding over his shoulders as he gave an involuntary shiver. “I’ve got- I’ve got the key.”

His hand rose to his chest, as if able to feel the intangible object thrumming inside him, nestling like a puzzle piece into a new opening in his core.

“Can you call on it?” Akriti asked, the question gentle, her tone not demanding of him as he adjusted to the change, and once more recovered his bearings.

Dean looked at her, vanes fluttering and just barely able to resist the urge to cordon himself off from everyone else in the room, but he exhaled deeply, forcing himself to keep his cool. He nodded, if a little shakily, and willed his feathers to spread away from their shawl of protection, reaching down with his mind and tentatively nudging at the piece of himself where the essence of the key had slid into place.

“Try to give it a little tug,” the older seraph murmured, giving Dean whatever space he needed.

Dean’s breath hitched slightly, but he did, and then he felt something _give,_ like a lever was pulled inside him but in another realm all at once. He looked up, and the air began to ripple, space warping and warbling in front of him as if in the gesture of an open door.

“It’s here,” he breathed, hardly able to believe it.

Akriti grinned, expertly maneuvering around his wings to pull him in for a sideways-hug, and then motioned to the gateway, her eyes briefly shining.

“After you, rookie,” she said, motioning for him to step through.

“Welcome to The Shire.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter makes me a very happy person 😂  
> Let me know if any bits of the writing stuck out to you- I would _love_ to hear about lines you liked and/or your reactions to them.
> 
> Teasers for next time:  
> Dean ventures into the crypt for the first time, and as he gets acquainted, I have two words for you all: Blanket. Nests. The winged fluff is real, people. Sleepy Seraph Dean has entered the chat. And then we get a dream- but not like the last time. No...more like snippets of something familiar.  
> Could it be...something he's forgotten?
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! I hope you have a great rest of your day, and on the note of 2021; once more unto the breach we go!


	24. A Whole New World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody! Within the week, 2021 has already begun as a whirlwind of news, some good and some chilling, and I just want to say...I hope you all are hanging in there. We're in this together.
> 
> Meanwhile, so excited to finally impart this chapter upon you all- more multidimensional angel stuff! Yay! When one of you in the comments a while back (the wonderful D_e_s_t_i_n_e_s_i_a) mentioned the idea of Dean in heaven, I couldn't resist working the train of thought that prompted into the plans I'd already had for this. Thanks for helping to deepen my vision of this, lovely.
> 
> The music to go with this one is Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This) by Annie Lennox and Eurythmics, Soul Kitchen by The Doors, and Home by Vince Staples and Richie Kohan. I thought they were pretty fitting, haha ;)  
> I mean, come on, guys. _"Let me sleep all night/in your soul kitchen"_? How on earth was I supposed to pass on _that_ one?
> 
> Okay, that's enough of me. You're here to read.
> 
> Enjoy, and as always, feel free to let me know what you think in the comments! I'll see you there!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An extra note because I just realized all of a sudden-  
> Wow, I've been posting this thing for three months as of today. I've lost most concept of how to process time as of the last year or so, but for those of you who've been with me since the early days, thank you so much for sticking around! And for any newer readers/newcomers...I look forward to three months more.
> 
> Thanks for giving me the means to have gotten this far.  
> ;)

When Dean stepped through the gateway to Michael’s crypt, it felt as though space converged, as though the very _forces_ he commanded had become _honey_ and as if from his eyes to his mind, he was sharpened, and softened, and _strengthened_ all at once.

As the partition faded from behind him, he looked around, and what he could see seemed to be shifting, moving; the aether that made up this plane of reality breathing out and murmuring into a solidity he could understand. Sheaves of supple light curved into a space that looked well-lived, a place lined with bookshelves, embellished with blankets, and dispersed amid items the likes of which Dean had never seen before.

“This is where I crash,” Akriti said, but her voice was melodious; deep, and rich, and now unhindered by the limitations of human air. “What do you think?”

Dean found so much that swam to his senses that he didn’t think he could process it all at once, let alone answer. His wings rose, and his grace _sang_ where it flowed through his veins; the way the energy swept in, over, above his feathers nearly making him gasp. He felt like he could breathe in, and rise, like the sensations could lift him right from his body but he'd still be _him._ Made of _everything,_ nothing but-

“Hey, hey, easy,” Akriti murmured, blinking to his side and resting firm hands softly over his shoulders. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

“Wh-what is this?” Dean asked, trying to keep his fingers from shaking as he looked at them, the way something inside him seemed to transcend the rest of his form. His voice was as quiet as he could make it, but it echoed in layers upon layers upon layers, just like hers did.

“We don’t always have a true form, not like other angels do,” she said, understanding what it was he was feeling. “But this place brings you close. You feel less like you and your body are the same. More like just the stars.”

“God, this is so weird,” he muttered before he could stop himself, and his wings, now like pure energy, folded in close to his shoulders, warding off an unintentional shudder. “It’s like I took a hit of every drug there ever was.” He looked around, eyes moving almost lazily, but with genuine curiosity that began to overtake the pervading sense of unease. “Is this...where the grace I’ve got now came from?” he asked, making a slight face.

“No,” Akriti laughed, standing back and crossing her arms comfortably. “This crypt has a lot of rooms. You can travel between them, if you learn how, by spending enough time inside.” She held out one hand with a flourish, motioning to where they were standing now. “This is the place I made my own. One of the easier places to get to, for us.”

“Wow.” Dean wanted to step forward, but couldn’t choose a single direction to walk in. The aether-like atmosphere around them seemed to ripple and part as he moved, and it made him feel like he was underwater. “Heaven, huh.”

“You should try listening to music in here,” she said, walking over to a cushion-like mound too vast to be any one bed or sofa or pillow, and reached to its side, thumbing through a shelf of records that seemed to bleed seamlessly into thin air. “Better than heaven.”

Dean moved to join her, but as he sat down, he realized there was a pull in him to rest, to recharge now that he was home at long last.  
_Home._

“Hey...does anything happen if I fall asleep in here?” Dean asked around the beginnings of a yawn, caught off guard by how even a sound as blatantly human as one of fatigue could be utterly hijacked by angelic characteristics. “I feel like...like my veins are full of molasses. Just...slow, and…”

“You’ll probably never sleep better in your life,” she told him honestly. “That feeling is because of the energy it took to forge the key. I’ll wake you up before too long. Time passes...differently, in here, to say the least. Like sidereal time. So if you want, you can get a full night’s sleep and go back before Sam gets back up tomorrow.”

“Would you mind- I don’t know, letting them know, maybe? I mean…we just up and _left._ Didn’t discuss it, either." _They should at least know what’s happening._ He went to laugh, but then sobered for a second at his next thought. “Cas is probably tense out of his mind.” He then looked up. “Hey. Can Cas follow us in here?”

Akriti bit her lip, and paired with the glow shared by both their eyes the expression was just a little jarring. "I don't know," she said finally, deciding to answer honestly. "But...you just make yourself a nice little blanket nest and get settled, okay? I'll go tell them." She moved back towards the entryway-like part of the space, before briefly turning around. "And, by the way? Consider yourself a welcome guest here." She smiled. "You officially know the best way to reach me."

Dean snorted sleepily, but his wings were already moving to cover and envelop him - or dare he think, nestle him - in the sensation of warmth. "Could've just given us a phone number," he muttered back.

"Maybe," she responded with a laugh, as the doorway back began to open. "But you have to admit.

"This was way cooler."

-:-:-:-

Sam and Castiel had been standing in the empty sparring room for just over a minute, both of their minds still in a state of buffer over what they had just witnessed. The energies from the crypt were ebbing away, and quickly disappeared, despite Cas’s desperate efforts to hold onto them as if they could somehow link him to Dean.

“The crypt was not made to interact with grace like my own,” he murmured, answering Sam’s unasked question. “I can’t sense them any longer.”

Sam nodded, realizing he was still holding his breath. “What now?” he asked quietly. “Dean…”

 _He looked so_ free.

Cas could say nothing, and neither one of them knew what to do next.

Before they could turn away, however, the air began to stir once more, and Akriti emerged from the reopened gateway, her wings and the heady glow in her eyes all dissolving behind her like the portal was a sheet of rain.

“Dean’s sleeping it off,” she told them, before their mouths could open. “I know, I know, it’s a long way from celestial keymaking to napping inside the crypt of Michael, but he was adjusting, and the energy drain from the process started to hit him. He wanted me to come out and tell you guys.”

Castiel looked at her, and then allowed himself to exhale, a sense of anxiety still lingering over his mind. “Is he okay?”

Akriti grinned reassuringly. “As we speak, he’s dozing in a blanket nest of his wings.”

“And the toll on his grace?” the other angel pressed.

“He’s fine. Truly. You don’t need to worry, Castiel.” She smiled softly. “Dean said you’d be tense with him out of sight.”

Cas wavered at this, just so.

“Can Cas do what that Dean just did, and gain access to the crypt as well?” Sam asked, shifting the subject along. “Or is this...something only seraphim are capable of?”

Akriti’s lips pursed. “I doubt that the crypt was meant to be amiable to any other kinds of angel, at least not those of the heavenly host. It’s something I can look into, but I can’t say yes.” She sighed, and stretched her arms behind her head, suppressing the beginnings of a yawn. She looked worn, the other two realized.

“Are you alright?” Cas asked.

“...yeah, I’m fine. I think Dean might not be the only one who could use a rest, though,” she answered. “Do you guys want me to go back in there and stay with him? I should be able to bring him back by the time the sun’s up out here.”

Sam and Cas exchanged a glance, and then nodded, trying not to hold their disquietude too close.

Akriti’s gaze softened reassuringly. “Hey. You guys aren’t the only ones worrying about him anymore,” she told them in earnest. “I promise.”

“The next time he does something stupid, it will not be on my watch.”

-:-:-:-

Dean’s eyes opened blearily when his wings registered a shift in the energies of the crypt, and he felt a weight drop, somewhere on a part of the cushion to his side. “Akr’ti?” he murmured sleepily, and his voice was like music; something he’d forgotten, but now remembered once more in comfort. _The music meant he was home,_ his relaxed, half-asleep brain told him.

_Home._

“Yeah, it’s me, Dean,” she answered softly. “Just here to catch a nap too.”

He hummed, as if in reply, tucking his feathers - still made entirely of warmth and light - closer around him, covering every inch of his form except his eyes and nose. He sighed, the breath rippling and nearly tangible in the air in front of him, and he smiled, slipping back into sleep.

He began to dream; the world fading away, into a vision of his own making.

-:-:-:-

Where there had been peace, grace was roiling. Balance, it was as foreign as control in a realm of instinct, as far from reach as warmth in a land of cold.

This was a memory. The hazy, whisking tatters of recollection previously subdued, making themselves known now that the veils obscuring them had been lifted. But why this memory? And when was it from?

The mats of the bunker’s sparring room were rough and unforgiving beneath knees as they fell forward, and a head arched back, overcome by the sensation of warring forces and _fear._ Fear, there was so much of it.

But then there were fingers….like silk cradling a shaking jaw, and wanting only to provide an anchor. There were lights flickering, but a grip that was firm, and behind it a source of heat that promised it would never go away.

There was a feeling...a feeling set free on the heels of quivering words that caught on pleading lips.

A feeling.

A word that beckoned.

_Release._

But it was more than that.

So much more.

It was-

Dean flew awake with a lurch.

He tried to breathe, his heart pulsing beneath the sheaves of his feathery cocoon, and he pushed the wings out so he could sit up; wrapping them over his shoulders like a shawl, and tugging them closer with his hands so he could stop shivering, so he could find a way to _think._

The dream’s contents began to slip from the grip of his memory, most of it becoming once more lost to the void of the subconscious. But those feelings...whatever they were...he shuddered once more just thinking about them. It had been so _much._ Because even though his grace had been all but howling in conflict in the beginning, the warring sensations had been soothed, _beyond_ soothed, by something he couldn’t identify.

Something a part of him longed for in a way he could almost believe he’d never felt.

He looked over to his side, and found Akriti's ethereal, sleeping form curled in a blanket nest of her own, and so decided not to wake her, figuring that if he needed sleep after they made that key then she probably did too. But by the time he stood and stretched, only feeling his aura rise higher and his body deepen in its glow, the other seraph appeared to have awoken on her own; her wings unfurling gently and straightening out behind her.

"Hey, rookie," she asked, smiling. "You sleep well?"

Dean hesitated for a moment, but nodded, and realized he felt that the answer was honest.

That vision would be back, he thought to himself. So when it came, and whenever next he dreamed…

He intended to put the pieces together.

-:-:-:-

A man at his desk looked up to find one of his colleagues - though the term was generous - approaching, likely fresh off a car ride back to their base of operations after having been sent to acquire the body of the woman they’d found in west Kansas.

The woman, the worker reviewed within his mind, had - by coincidence, more than anything else - been found to possess ambient energy signatures that matched potential subtleties of readings they shouldn’t have had, but had seen a scant few times in their organization's history.

There was a file for these, a very thin one, which needed to be remedied.

The file’s name was “seraphim”.

“Is it done?” the desk jockey asked, (though in all truth, that was a term he resented).

“Yes,” came the clipped response. “The soul is being extracted, prepped for study as we speak.”

“Can I expect a report on acquisition by tomorrow?”

A sour look. “...yes,” the operative affirmed finally. He began to turn away, but then spoke over his shoulder. “I should hope this retrieval mission garners some sort of success. You’re well aware of the lengths to which we had to extend ourselves.”

A grimace. “Yes.” The seated worker swallowed, turning back to his computer. “Experimentation should begin soon.”

And one way or the other, the secrets of the seraphim would be revealed, at long last.

Then, and only then, could the next phase of their plans begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, the plot thickens- (or continues to thicken, I suppose), yet again. Place your bets on where this is going, and we'll see where it really does. (Hopefully not too soon, though. We've got fluffier things to do in the meantime). For example, you might be wondering: _"was that dream sequence what I_ thought _it was?"_  
>  You, my dear reader...might just be correct. And I assure you:
> 
> Our idiot winged Winchester figures that out soon enough.
> 
> Meanwhile, teasers for next time! (featuring a slight abuse of ellipses, because I think to think I'm dramatic).
> 
> For next chapter...the anticipation is real, my friends.  
> For, to lean ever so slightly into the suspense: one of the moments you've all been waiting for, ladies and gentlemen and pretty peonies of any leaning, is finally upon us.
> 
> Because as I'm sure some of you have been wondering...what good is a _"winged Winchester"_ when he's always on the _ground?_
> 
> I'll see you there, everyone. Thanks so much for reading <3


	25. As You Take Wing, Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everybody! Today's chapter is a little bit longer than usual, but I hope you enjoy it for that. A day you've been waiting for is finally here, like I said in last time's end notes- and I can't _wait_ to get your reactions. You wouldn't even believe the kind of writing fuel your comments are.
> 
> This chapter's songs are Float sung by KT Tunstall, Lost In Time And Space by Lord Huron, and Mr. Blue Sky by Electric Light Orchestra.
> 
> Also, something totally random I thought I might throw out there? If I can get enough chapters stockpiled, and hype for the concept itself, I was thinking that I might do a posting speedrun (so to speak), and post with only two days in between each update for a week or so, which is about double my normal rate. Note that I'm really not sure about this, but if you guys chime in and want to cheer me on, then...who knows? Maybe that'll happen. So if it would make you excited to see that, let me know!
> 
> Anyway, without further ado- I hope you enjoy! :)

The two seraphim left the crypt, and Dean shivered as he passed through the gateway once more, watching his skin go from luminous to its normal saturation of melanin after he stepped out into the real world. He looked around, and realized they weren’t in the sparring room, but had reemerged up on a section of the Bunker’s roof.

“Instant travel if you need to be somewhere,” Akriti told him. “You can enter ‘ol Mike’s at once place, and exit at another. It can be draining for large distances, though, and the amount of focus it takes to land in the right spot isn’t easy. So maybe don’t rely on it unless it’s your only good option.” She then shrugged. “Or if you just don’t really want to take the stairs.”

Dean committed the information to memory, and closed his eyes for a moment; face tight as he took in the sensation of air against the pores of his skin, and the night sky’s clouded glow over the phantom presence of his wings. Their energy-like form had diffused and left the corporeal feathers inside his back once more, but he could still feel them, almost more so than before.

“It’s an adjustment, the first time,” Akriti murmured, and looked around before finding and tugging a dust-covered mat out of the side of a building vent, and expending a bit of energy to swiftly clean it. She rolled it out on the ground, and motioned for Dean to lay back, the two of them slowly settling down with their arms beneath their heads and the ocean of stars shining above them. “It’s easier to find balance again if you’re outside,” she continued once they were comfortable, “or at least not boxed in by four walls, a floor and a ceiling.”

Grace softly pulsed in the space between them as the Winchester nodded, and Akriti looked over at the younger seraph to her left, eyes open in a way that Dean was beginning to understand they always were. “How do you feel, Dean?” she asked gently.

He shifted his forearms where they cradled the base of his head, and let his chest rise and fall, watching the stars as he’d spent so many hours doing in his life but realizing only now just how much more there had been to see all along. The sun would be rising in the next hour or two, he could approximate, and Sam was sleeping- Cas elsewhere in the building beneath them meditating, most likely, given the calm thrum of angelic energies as they ebbed amid the space they occupied.

“I feel good,” he answered quietly, and it was the truth- a truth he almost felt like he didn’t have to grapple with. “Like I’m...different, but I’m not different.” He didn’t know how else to describe it, but Akriti appeared to understand completely.

“I’m glad, Dean.”

They lay back in companionable silence, watching the colors only the both of them could see, the inky nebulas in the distance giving way to the light around them.

“Akriti?” Dean asked, returning her question with one of his own. “Do you know...do you know how many there are out there? Seraphim?”

Because he had never known a thing about them, until the day an angel told him he was becoming one.

“Right now?” she answered. “Dean...without Timoné, with just the two of us, here, now…" She broke off. "I don’t know. I’ve been alone in this half of the world, as far as I know, for a long time. A long, _long_ time. You have to understand, there are people with the stars out there, but not all of us are chosen to be reborn.” She swallowed, shaking her head. “Something is changing.”

“You say that like you don’t know what,” the Winchester said.

“I wish I did,” Akriti whispered.

The air had grown heavy, and Dean felt something pinch his chest in empathy, something that made him want to remedy it if somehow he could.

“Hey…'krithi? Just realized I never got to ask,” Dean began, looking over to his right. “When you said you _flew_ into that town…” he trailed off, looking somewhat trepidant, like he wasn’t sure how to just say it outright. “I can’t believe I’m about to ask this. Did you...can we…”

Akriti’s eyes widened, and she rolled over, a grin rising to her face as she stood and motioned for him to stand as well. _“Finally,_ you brought it up,” she said, her melancholy forgotten. “Come with me.”

She dragged him down into the bunker and back out, quickly exiting the building with her fledgeling charge in tow and bringing him out into a section of field, just adjacent to the bulk of the property.

"Wings out, Dean," she said, a light breeze stirring as she stepped back and called forth the feathers of her own.

“What?” the Winchester asked, utterly confused. “Why?”

“Baby bird...” she declared.

“You are about to learn to _fly.”_

-:-:-:-

It turned out that when it came to flight, seraphim were something special, even compared to other angels. Angels like Cas, prior to their fall from heaven, could use their wings to sidestep into the celestial plane, and move themselves through it to achieve travel that was swift and appeared near-instantaneous to a human’s relative scale. For angels like Akriti and Dean, however, what they could do was a little different.

Firstly, because their wings had a corporeal form on Earth, they were capable of flight in the same way as any earthly winged creature; that being visibly, in the air, via the beating and shifting of their vanes and rachis in the space behind them. According to Akriti, that movement was something Dean needed to get a handle on first.

But _then,_ there came teleportation. (Or the closest thing, anyway, given the gist of how it really worked). It appeared that Dean, with some practice, would be able to achieve an ability similar to what had once enabled Cas to appear in and out of their motel rooms and case sites.

How it worked was that a seraphim’s wings were capable of propelling them into a branch of the celestial realm, allowing them to fly unbidden at high speeds to their destination, and then exit back into the real world in a fraction of the time they’d experienced passing. Long distances were taxing, but over time, it was a skill Dean could grow proficient in, for travel between cities, or blinking behind an opponent in the throes of a fight. Apparently, their wings had the capacity to be deployed and retracted incredibly quickly, allowing them to move without making their feathers visible in public (or to their enemies).

“Jesus,” Dean said, once his head was successfully spinning from all the information, and Akriti had happily given her lecture. “So...you can _fly.”_

“No, dummy,” Akriti teased, flapping her wings once as if stretching them out, and then cuffing him behind the head with one. _“We_ can fly.”

Dean swallowed, silently berating himself for bringing this up. Him...and _heights?_ He’d dove off of bridges and out of buildings before, so maybe it wasn’t the heights themselves that were the problem. But with planes, as he believed was perfectly rational, he didn’t trust the pilot not to crash. So here?

No way.

No way in _hell._

He took a step back, and shakily laughed, scratching the back of his head. “You know, uh...after the crypt, and everything...I think I’m just gonna…”

“Dean.” She raised an eyebrow, pinning him to the spot. “I refuse to let you walk away from here with a fear of _heights,_ of all things, stopping you from actually using your wings. Our grand feather dusters of the lord are no good if we don’t actually know how to use them.”

Dean made an affronted noise, ignoring the way his face flushed. “Oh, come on. I did the whole...blanket, thing, didn’t I? Besides, it’s not the heights.”

Akriti simply waited, inviting him to contemplate just how weak that defense was.

Dean sighed, realizing there was no way for him to win this one out.

“Okay,” he muttered weakly, breathing in and bringing his wings to the surface. They quivered against the pre-sunrise chill, but in part due to anxiousness as well. “What do I gotta do?”

“Well...the best place to start is flapping,” Akriti said, her own feathers shifting subconsciously as if in muscle memory. “The middle set, the biggest ones, those are the ones that get you off the ground. Bottom pair is for balance and help turning, and the top pair is to keep tabs on the air and shift accordingly- so the first thing you have to do is just get the middle pair moving. Try it once. Like this.” The older seraph cleared her throat, and drew back her wings once, pushing them forward in a forceful beating motion.

Dean watched, and felt something between his shoulders blades twitch, as if beckoning him to follow. He felt for the middle feathers, and moved them back, gradually sliding them against the air until he felt them picking up minimal momentum, and then _pushed,_ grunting as they swept their way forward.

“Again,” Akriti instructed, not without her characteristic gentleness, but without room to protest either.

Dean took a deep breath, and did it again, feeling his face clench from the brief exertion.

“Again.”

He did.

“Again.”

This time, he knew the order was coming, and so he didn’t stop the build of momentum, didn’t halt the sensation of something rushing in his bones. He surrendered his focus entirely to the movement, to a back and forth and back and forth and back and forth like he was running for miles or going at a punching bag, and when he opened his eyes…

“Oh

my

god.”

He was flying.

“Yes!” Akriti cheered. With a sweep of her wings, she pushed off from the ground and joined him in the air, maneuvering around the beating feathers so that she was at level elevation in front of him. “Yes! Don’t stop flapping, Dean.”

They were only five feet above the earth, but Dean felt energy singing in the color of his eyes, felt the _thrill_ that came with what he was experiencing, despite the human in him being fully aware that if he were to freeze, he’d fall.

But he wouldn’t fall.

He’d never have to fear falling again.

He flapped harder, and tried to hold his limbs straight, shakily steadying himself beneath the light of rising sun.

He laughed like he hadn’t laughed in years.

Because...in all hell, heaven and earth;

Who would’ve thought Dean Winchester would ever be at home off the ground?

-:-:-:-

Cas had been meditating for the better part of the night, sitting cross legged in the sparring room and timing his breaths to ease his grace’s nervous thrum. Dean was fine, he told himself, hoping that with enough repetition, he would believe it. Because by any means...it should’ve been true. Dean was experiencing something, something Castiel knew as a fellow angel would be beyond words, would be like going home and finding the ultimate comfort all at once. Dean would’ve _found_ himself, in a way that the earth wouldn’t have been able to provide him on its own.

So why did it hurt, simply because he couldn’t be at Dean’s side to witness it?

Hours passed, and eventually there was a subtle shift in vibration on the roof, signalling that the gates to the crypt had opened, but not in the same location. Cas wondered if he’d have been able to feel it at all, if not for Dean, and having been present when the seraph’s key had been forged.

He moved to stand, thinking he might walk up there, but hesitated, contemplating in a moment of doubt if perhaps he shouldn’t interfere. Dean would be readjusting to the earthly plane for the first time, and this wasn’t like time spent in hell, or purgatory. The fewer beings around to potentially overwhelm him, the better.

Castiel sat back down, sighing, and resigning himself to count inhalations once more; allowing himself to be soothed by the faint presence of Dean’s energies trickling down through the layers of cement between them. For a while, all was still.

After some time, the twin sources of seraph grace seemed to make their way through the building, and exit out the side. Cas was curious, but again told himself to give them their space.

After ten minutes, however, when somewhere the second hand of a clock was striking its mark- Cas’s eyes flared open with the glow of grace, his energy responding to a surge in Dean’s. There was a feeling, something strong. Like wind over skin, thrill flowing between vanes undeterred.

 _No,_ Cas thought. _It couldn’t be._ Because he _knew_ this feeling. He knew it from eons spent as one of the fastest in the heaven, knew it from the long years on earth missing it more sorely than he’d ever admitted.

He ran from the sparring room and all but sprinted out the door, the climbing thrum in his veins driving him forth until he reached the right place, and found himself utterly stunned, reduced to the softness of bated breaths.

Because there was Dean.

_Flying._

Cas watched the glistening feathers that beat beneath the light of the sun, watched Dean’s eyes, watched the _smile_ on the Winchester’s face that he wanted nothing more than to share.

“Oh, Dean,” he whispered, unable to hold it in.

Dean looked up, appearing to have heard something; and he registered the third source of grace on the field below, only for it to disappear.

Castiel had shown his face, and then run, for reasons that Dean couldn’t discern.

“Cas?” the seraph murmured. He looked almost longingly into the free air around him, wanting to stay, but more than that wanting to catch the other angel’s trail before it retreated into the bunker completely.

“Maybe he’s gone to get Sam,” Akriti proffered, biting her lip. “Tell you what. I’ll follow him inside and see if I can bring the both of them out. You stay up here. Deal?”

Dean nodded, slightly anxious but not enough to say no, and the other seraph quickly landed, stowing away her wings by the time her feet reunited with the ground.

Dean flapped in place, finding only his thoughts left behind. He wondered, he realized, just when it was that he’d begun to feel almost alone;

And why it matched with the time he’d lost sight of the trenchcoat on the field below.

-:-:-:-

Akriti caught up to Cas by the time he made it to the bunker doors, and rested a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey,” she asked gently. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I just…” Cas swallowed, trying to recover his composure. “It’s been years since I could’ve hoped to join him up there, is all. Seeing Dean, feeling so delighted for him…” he shook his head. _Few times have I missed the use of my own wings quite as much._

“I’m sorry, Castiel,” Akriti murmured, biting her lip. “Truly, I am.” She withdrew her hand, and opened the door, letting the both of them through. “I was thinking I might wake up Sam, and let him see what his brother can do, if you’d like to join me?”

“...yes, I would,” Cas said, grateful for another perspective to distract himself with, a way to be happy and forget the rest (at least for the time being).

The two of them made their way up to the sleeping human’s room, and knocked on his open door, waking him up and thankfully avoiding his gun held up to their faces.

“Hey, is-” Sam said, rubbing his eyes as he sat back, and glanced over at his bedside clock. “Is everything okay? Is Dean-?”

“Dean is fine, Sam,” Cas said, and he smiled, the expression full and true in a way that was only just hitting him in all its joy. “I believe there is something you should come see.”

Sam looked at him, puzzled, and glanced at Akriti, a quirk rising at the edge of his lips at the expression on Cas’s face. “Alright, uh...lead the way,” he said, rising to stand and follow them out of the room.

The two angels brought him out to the field with little foreplay, but once he saw what was waiting for him…

“Oh my god,” he whispered.

 _“Dean!”_ he called out happily, laughing as a grin spread from ear to ear. “Dude, you- you’re _flying?”_

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean laughed back, glancing over his shoulders at the sweeping feathers as if unable to believe that they were still there. “Check it out, huh?” Part of him wanted to be embarrassed, but he wasn’t, because all he could feel were the smiles on the three faces below him, their joy like caffeine on a summer morning. He began to slow the beat of his wings and felt for the decline in altitude, stumbling slightly just before his feet hit the ground but finding that he didn’t utterly crash in the effort to return to earth.

“I think that might be the coolest thing I’ve ever seen,” Sam said, his face practically aglow, watching the rippling vanes over his brother’s back the way children would stare into the eyes of the world they found so majestic. “You- I have to hear everything about this. Can you-”

The younger Winchester turned to Akriti, one hand never leaving Dean’s shoulder, and he asked as many questions as he could verbalize: his smile only widening with every answer he received.

Meanwhile, Dean met eyes with Cas, and gave him a small grin all his own, laced with a hint of worry. His feathers twitched, as if wishing to gently pull the trenchcoated angel into an embrace. _“You okay, Cas?”_ he mouthed. _“Why’d you run off earlier?”_

 _“I’m alright,”_ Cas mouthed back. _“You, in the air, it was simply…”_ he looked away, shaking his head, smiling, and saying nothing more.

_It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen._

Eventually, the four of them went back inside, and agreed to take some time to recharge; all deciding that there had been enough excitement for one morning, even if the day had only just begun. Sam went back to sleep (at the behest and mild threat of all three angels that he do so, lest they make him with their powers), and Dean lay down against his bed, his wings unfurled and draping out from beneath his back around his sides. One arm rested under his head, and his fingers absently carded through a section of feathers, trailing with his thoughts as he stared up into the ceiling.

He’d just taken that nap inside the crypt of Michael, so Dean found that he wasn’t overly inclined to sleep. But he realized a part of him was almost disappointed by it, because it meant that he wouldn’t sooner find answers to the niggling question of what he’d seen when he’d last dreamt.

_What he’d dreamed…_

Dean thought about the look of Cas’s face out on that field, and something in him stirred, in a way he couldn’t explain. It was like for just a moment, something hadn’t been hidden between them; like in his happiness, Castiel had let down a wall he’d been holding close, and allowed something to slip through the cracks.

And Dean, when he reached for it hard enough…

He realized he'd felt it before.

Within the span of a moment, memories surged through his mind as though they’d never left his reach, every detail of fear and every echo of pain building behind widened eyes until they were swept away by that sweet embrace.

By the press of Dean's lips to another's.

By _Castiel._

“Oh my god,” Dean whispered.

He remembered now, at long, long last.

He remembered.

_

“Cas.”

_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FOR THOSE OF YOU WONDERING IF THAT JUST HAPPENED:
> 
> YES. IT.  
>  _DID._


	26. No Place I'd Rather Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everybody! After the incredible response to last chapter, I thought I'd post a couple days earlier than I'd intended to; in part as my way of saying thank you, and also my way of crossing my fingers and hoping that I'll get to hear about how you guys react to what happens this time too.
> 
> The songs to go with this one are Dive by Ed Sheeran, The Great Divide by The McClain Sisters, Mary by Big Thief, and Rather Be by Clean Bandit and Jess Glynne (this last one being the one I plucked the title from).  
> If you listen to them or happen to be familiar with the lyrics, then you'll know why I chose these. (I've been saving Dive for this for _ages_ now, lmaooo)  
> And, if you aren't familiar with them, you can take a listen on [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0utbgKHvlZyREEKFBimIgr?si=r99M7UwBRPaMdGouRuEYLg), where I've added them to the playlist that holds all the music I've paired with chapters of this story thus far.
> 
> But enough of me. You're here to find out what on earth HAPPENS. SO, without further ado...enjoy!

Dean ran through the bunker like he had only few times before, his wings all but propelling him forward with every step he took. He knocked on Cas’s door and then opened it before receiving an answer, finding the surprised angel sitting in a chair with a book in his lap.

“Dean, what is it?” Castiel asked, taking in the seraph’s expression and the rushing cadence of his breath. “Are you alright?”

“Cas, I-” Dean ran a hand through his hair, willing himself to please calm down, to try to _think_ because his mind was moving too fast to be thinking and he wasn’t sure that was a good thing. His feathers curled over his shoulders and back, in and out like the nervous tension of a fist. “Cas,” he started over, once he felt that he could. “I...I _remember.”_

“...you...remember?” the other angel repeated, something in his chest vaguely fluttering as he set his book aside. “Remember what?”

“The night before Cole’s. The sparring room. I had a dream, and then I- it came back to me. All of it.”

Dean didn’t say anything else, and Cas found that he didn’t have the strength to meet the green of the eyes above him.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” he said finally, his tone even and resigned. “You are not obligated to act as if the event bears any importance.”

“...what?” The Winchester stared at him, appearing to be at a loss for words.

“You said you dreamt it.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Then it doesn’t have to be anything more than that.”

Dean stood there, and felt something in him falling and rising all at once.

“You know I care about you, right, Cas?” he said aloud, quietly.

Cas opened his mouth to respond, but no sound dared to exit.

“Maybe I didn't remember exactly how much,” Dean continued, “and god, I can't imagine what that's been like for you these last few days, but I...damn it all, Cas, no.” He shook his head, standing his ground firm. “This was more than just a dream.”

Behind him, his wings twitched and rippled in time with his words, vanes flaring with every beat of an honest heart. “I don't know- I have no _clue,_ how to do this,” Dean told the angel in front of him, “but what I felt from you…” He swallowed, refusing to trail off when Cas’s eyes finally met his own. “...and the things, that _I felt back,_ Cas, the things that I felt for _you,_ even if I don’t know how long they’ve been there...I don't wanna shove them under the rug.”

Cas slowly stood, something in him unable to stay seated any longer. “What are you saying, Dean?” he asked quietly.

“I'm asking...if tonight was your last night on earth…” Dean began, taking one step closer, and then another, “would you want to make that dream real again?”

He breathed out the last words, and Cas moved the rest of the way forward; resting a gentle hand over the edge of Dean's cheek, and curling their fingers together. “Yes,” Cas whispered, grace and emotion all but singing in the space between them. “Dean, no matter the finality...it would be my honor.”

Their eyes trailed down and met at one another’s lips, and finally, _finally…_

Dean’s wings swept forward as Cas pulled him in, for a kiss that was soft, and _warm,_ and filled with so much devotion that neither knew what to do with it all.

 _“Ils kehnagon fam...in untal pedongon medur, Dean,”_ Castiel murmured, their breath mingling as the cocoon of feathers encircled them. _You...are my part in love._

 _“Od ils, Castiel,”_ Dean replied softly, _“...kehnagon fam in ol.”_

_And you, Castiel…_

_Are mine._

-:-:-:-

Sam was downstairs and awake when the two angels left Cas’s room, and Dean couldn’t help but keep his wings unfurled, secretly finding new forms of joy in how they let him touch and trace the former soldier’s stoic edges even when his hands were out of reach. They’d spent a whole hour just sitting nestled against one another’s arms (and wings), and it had felt as much like _home_ as the crypt or heaven ever would. He would never have thought this could happen.

But still: here they were.

“Dean…” Cas spoke as they walked down the halls, while it was still just the two of them. “I believe you are aware that your brother is downstairs.”

Dean stilled, but nodded, affirming that Cas’s assessment was correct.

“Do you know what you would like to say to him, about...?” _About us?_

Dean’s brow furrowed, but his features remained loose as he thought about how to reply. “I don’t know what I want to tell him,” he answered honestly. (Because, well, he’d been a little too busy with Cas to think about _explaining_ any of it). _“But,”_ he said, because he could feel something in Castiel begin to drop, “I’m not going to keep this from him. I just need to think. Strategize. Whatever.” He looked into the blue eyes next to him, and gaze softened; his fingers hesitating for only a moment before gently reaching up to cup the bottom of Cas’s chin in a way that felt _natural,_ despite how impossibly recently this had all begun.“It’s my turn to promise _you,_ alright?”

Cas smiled, and felt himself sigh into the lingering touch, nodding in answer. “Alright.”

"Good."

“Morning, sunshines,” Dean announced as he and Cas walked into the kitchen, finding Sam reading a newspaper over a cup of coffee, and Akriti facing his opposite, nursing a warm mug of her own. “That coffee I smell?”

“It is,” the older seraph answered, pointing to the pot. “Help yourselves.”

Dean gave Cas a lingering glance and then moved to pour a cupfull, and Akriti swept him over once with her eyes. “Free-winging it this morning, are we?” she asked teasingly.

The younger seraph’s face flushed slightly, but he changed nothing, simply taking a sip of his coffee before he startled- a flare of contented surprise rippling down his still-exposed feathers. “Wow, this- this is incredible,” he said. “The hell did you put in this?”

Sam and Akriti exchanged a look, and the lone human grinned, stretching his hands knowingly. “I told you,” he said.

“Told her what?” Dean asked. “A day and a half and you guys are already making bets?” He broke off, muttering. “Unbelievable.”

“Tell me, Dean…” Akriti began, shooting a somewhat aggrieved expression at Sam before refocusing on her uncultured, angelic cousin of sorts. “Do you ever take...honey, in anything?”

"No," the hunter replied, one eye squinting slightly. "Damn sticky. And the aftertaste, I could never get over it. Never been my deal."

Akriti's lips twitched, one corner of her mouth rising to cover a laugh. "Yikes. Well, baby bird, that might've been true for human you...but it definitely isn't anymore."

Dean went still, looking down at the mug in his hands. "...oh crap," he said, caught off guard and now all but groaning. "Don't tell me honey is going to be some kind of...thing, now."

"It's heaven," Akriti told him. "Simple as that. You like honey, Cas?" she asked, turning to the third angel in the room.

Cas smiled conspiratorially. “Yes, Akriti, I do,” he answered. “I look forward to the day I might properly introduce Dean to a hive of bees.”

"Shut up, Cas," Dean snapped defensively, face flushing as he continued to sip the drink. "You know as well as I do that this was not a choice."

"You sure about that?" Sam asked teasingly, just barely muffling his laugh as he’d taken the words right out of Akriti’s mouth. "Because I'd say you're enjoying it."

"I'm going to my room," the victimized angel muttered, the mug to his face as he turned to escape the persecution of the kitchen. "Any of you idiots decide to harp on this," he told them, "and the next time you go to sleep, you'll wake up in a tree."

"Call me when you can fly higher than five feet and we'll talk," Akriti called out behind him, before leaning over to oblige Sam with a high-five. “God, I love you guys,” she said, her wide smile ear-to-ear. “I haven’t had this much fun in ages.”

“Hm,” Cas hummed in thought, looking out into the hall where Dean hadn’t yet gotten far. “...Dean?” he asked. “Would you mind coming back, please?”

Dean stopped at the sound of Cas’s voice, and sighed, returning to the kitchen and stowing away his wings as he did so. It’d been nice to keep them out so long, but he was becoming aware of the need to groom them properly given how long it had been, and knew they were like a bulletin board for his emotions. “Yeah, Cas?” he replied. “If this is another comment about bees, I swear-”

“No, Dean,” the angel said. “I believe we should tell them.”

The air was still for a moment, and the Winchester in question swallowed. “You wanna do this _now?”_

“They are in an elated mood, and have just engaged in the very enjoyable activity that is making you the subject of their sense of humor,” Castiel said. “They are both present. I see no downsides to doing this now.”

Dean sighed, scratching the back of his neck. “Alright, uh...Sam. ‘Krithi,” he began, trying to figure out anything, literally anything to spell it out concisely. “Cas and I, we…uh…” He broke off, cursing. “Damnit. Cas, you wanna give me a hand, here?”

“Dean and I are now...romantically involved,” Cas said, finally, adjusting the cuff of his dress shirt. (He’d been without his trench coat and suit jacket when Dean came flying in).

Sam blinked in slight surprise, but Akriti all but beamed at the news. _”Yes!”_ she crowed, leaping to her feet. “Did the idiot finally come to his senses and remember?”

“Remembe- she _knew_ about that?” Dean demanded. “Even when _I_ didn’t?”

“It came up outside the diner while you were speaking to Sam, and then-”

“Guys, guys, can- can someone _please_ explain who remembered what?” Sam asked, standing and catching their attention. “And by the way,” he added, while he still had room to speak. “It’s about time you two got together,” he said with a soft smile.

Dean gave him a raised eyebrow, and Sam simply fixed him with a classic _“it was obvious, idiot,”_ look in response.

“The night before you received the phone call from Cole’s, Sam,” Castiel began, “Dean lost control of his abilities, and he...made a move, in an effort to seek alleviation,” he said, as if he were still in awe of the memory. “However, due to the state of his grace, he did not remember once the night was over. It was only this morning that he regained his memory of the event, and then came to my door.”

Akriti’s laughter all but cascaded from her lips. “Cas kissed him so good that Dean forgot his own damn name,” she snorted, the words stilted between wheezes of a heartfelt nature.

Dean choked, and Sam started cough-laughing himself, the hilarity in the room slowly becoming all-consuming.

Cas tipped his head. “I don’t believe he forgot his name. Did he?”

“No, Cas,” the younger seraph answered before Akriti could open her mouth, shooting her a tired glare. “I didn’t forget my damn _name.”_ He broke off, then muttered grudgingly at her. “Though right about now I wouldn’t mind kicking you out and forgetting all about yours.”

“I’m hurt,” she said, though her jubilant smirk didn’t reflect the statement at all.

After that, it took a good few minutes for the laughter to ebb away.

“Well,” Akriti announced after a moment, swinging her legs and hopping to her feet, “I’m gonna head back into the crypt and see how much beginner learning material I can revisit and pull out here with me. You three enjoy, yeah?” She grinned. “Tomorrow, I’m going to have a drill instructor whistle around my neck.” She winked at Dean as she walked from the room, her hair flaring over her back. “And you know what they say about those.”

Dean looked at her, momentarily stunned. _Is this another seraph thing?_ “Shit. Hey,” he said, hurriedly beginning to follow her out. “Hey, that does _not_ make you my god. Do you hear me? ‘Krithi. _Krithi.”_

The two seraphim disappeared down the hall, and somewhere nearby the portal to Michael’s crypt briefly opened, followed by cursing when it closed, and then the portal opening and closing a second time.

Sam’s face was puffed up with laughter, and even Cas found himself in a similar state once the two of them were only ones left in the room.

If Sam was already placing bets with her like she was family, then Dean was already getting his ass handed to him in the exact same way.

“Part of me wonders if this whole day has been a dream,” the angel murmured aloud, and the younger hunter looked up at him, his expression steady and softening.

“Hey," Sam said. "You and Dean...there has been something _more_ between the two of you for as long as I can remember. You both deserve this. Really, you do.” He paused, smiling. “I’m glad Dean finally figured it out.”

Cas blushed. “As am I, Sam,” he answered.

“As am I.”

-:-:-:-

Somewhere across the country, there was a flash of movement, then a gleam of metal, before a demon’s husk fell to the ground and the one who killed it blew the hair from her face.

Where the sudden welling of demons had come from (on what she thought was a simple missing artifact case), the red-haired hunter couldn’t say, but her face was grim as she scanned her surroundings, trying to gauge whether or not there were more.

 _Demons,_ she thought, wiping off her pilfered angel blade and tucking it away.

While she didn’t know what they were planning, she did know what to do next.

She’d finish up this case, stay alive, and when she was done...

It was time for a visit to Lebanon, Kansas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's official: Destiel is now To Be Angelic canon, after having successfully wormed its way into the story some eleven chapters ago!  
> Fun fact: you actually have not just me, but also in part the lovely Nepenthene to thank for that having happened. (Enabling mastery, 10/10).  
> Oh, and speaking of Nepenthene, by the way- (hey there buddy, if you're reading this), a story that I wanted to shout out is their work [Invictus](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28135644/chapters/68939142), which is a story spinning out from after the events of SPN 15x19. I've yet to read it, since I'm still catching up on the show, but let me tell you, this one is a doozy. Angst, but well worth it.
> 
> And yes, as evidenced by this chapter's end, another character we all know and love is going to come into the fold!  
> Can't wait for you all to see it ;)
> 
> Meanwhile, teasers for next time:  
> The first half of the next chapter is pretty much entirely Dean and Cas fluff, because between pieces I had planned, that just sort of...slipped into the mix, to be honest. (I figured you guys wouldn't mind, though). In the back half, however, we find out what's been happening with the king of hell, and as things develop...the plot pot continues to stir.
> 
> I'll see you guys there. Let me know what you thought of this one, and until next time- thank you so much for reading!


	27. Our Next Paces (Hand In Hand)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everybody! I hope you're all having an awesome day today!
> 
> This chapter, as I'm pretty sure I mentioned in the teasers section last time, is one of those chapters that just sort of _happened,_ by it and characters' own volition. It's as if, we've got destiel, huzzah, time for the couple to be soft and steal the show for just a little bit to celebrate! Writing it was interesting, and fun- even if I was lowkey confused as to what was happening, because these two just stole the entire first half of the thing. But anyway.
> 
> The music to go with this update is You're The Voice by John Farnham (which is a serious addition, for reasons you'll see as you read, but if any of you out there are also a part of the Merlin fandom and know the connection, then LET ME KNOW IF THIS GOT YOU LAUGHING). And then we have a double treat, with Going To California and Good Times Bad Times, both by the one and only Led Zeppelin. (I figured it was about time I got some Led Zep in here- and what better chapter than a majority Dean+Cas one, am I right?)
> 
> Anyway. As always, you're here to read, so I'll shut up now.
> 
> Hope you enjoy ;)

Dean eventually returned to the kitchen with hair that appeared to have more than one stray feather stuck in it, and he sat down without making a sound, slowly picking up his previously abandoned mug and taking a sip despite the fact that his coffee was no longer particularly warm.

“Not a word, Sam,” he said simply. “Not, a damn, word.”

The younger Winchester obliged, but hid his smile behind a sheaf of newspaper when Castiel slowly walked over, and began to comb the loose vanes from the seraph’s head.

“This could be avoided if you either groomed, or chose not to antagonize a being with the strength of an archangel,” Cas murmured gently, gathering the feathers in one hand and setting them down on the table. 

Dean flushed. What had happened in the ten minutes since he’d gone barrelling into the crypt after his cousin-of-sorts was that he had realized very quickly his lack of skill when it came to angelic fighting techniques.

But, of course, neither of these two needed to know about that.

“Can’t help it,” Dean muttered back, but glanced up and gave Cas a teasing look. “Just part of my charm.”

“I contest that,” Cas said in answer, sliding into the seat at Dean’s side. “Your charm consists entirely of other things.”

“...oh yeah?” Dean asked, finding that his gaze began to wander over the other angel’s features. “Like what?”

Sam cleared his throat, and the two in front of him immediately faltered, the older Winchester’s face flushing once again.

“I’m just gonna...get going,” Sam said, picking up his papers and mug and leaving the angelic couple be. “You guys- you guys have fun.”

Dean looked up at his retreating little brother in mild amusement, and then back at Cas, staring into the blue of those eyes and momentarily furrowing his brow in thought.

“What is it, Dean?” Cas asked gently, brushing the seraph’s fingers with his own. “Is there something on your mind?”

“Just...can’t believe we got here,” Dean said, his gaze lightening in reflection. “It’s been like two hours since I figured it out, Cas, but it feels...right.”

He was answered first by a smile. “I love you, Dean Winchester,” Castiel murmured, the blue of his irises welling like dew on the petals of a hyacinth. “And even as the hours build to years, I always will.”

They looked at each other, then softly leaned in to hold one another close, surrendering themselves to the gentle press where their foreheads met and the peaceful mingling of their breath. They sat there, warm, and as a radio started to play somewhere across the Bunker, Dean softly began to hum along, almost absently as if he was simply free to do so.

Now, to any human who heard it, perhaps they’d take notice of the simple melody and continue along their way. But to Cas, who possessed the senses and perception of an angel...Dean’s voice when it was like this, even when quiet, was _beautiful;_ layers cascading and flowing over one another in woven strokes of sound so pure, that their harmonies could heal the pain in any heart they touched. It was _heavenly._

Cas felt his grace stirring, felt his breath hitching, felt his thoughts and worries melting away one after the other.

How Dean could’ve ever thought he wasn’t a force of _good,_ the angel simply couldn’t imagine.

The words to Led Zeppelin's _Going To California_ began to thread their way into the air, and something in Cas’s being _gave,_ all the years of tension beginning to diffuse and release like nothing he’d ever felt. He wobbled, catching himself against the table, but his smile held where it rested over his lips.

“Cas?” Dean asked, suddenly breaking off between verses, and moving the other angel’s head from his shoulder. “Cas, are you okay? You- you feel-”

“Your voice…” Cas sighed, long and slow and _content,_ sinking against his love’s chest and letting his fingers fall. “This is the most comfort I’ve ever felt.” He looked up, gazing softly into Dean’s eyes.

“What?” Dean breathed, not understanding. “Is something happening? Is-”

“Don’t worry, _ol hoath,”_ Castiel spoke gently. _Don’t worry, my love._ “Your voice,” he repeated. “You are drawing on some of your power, but this...this is you. _You._ Beautiful, in every respect I have ever been able to conceive.”

Dean was left wordless, but then Cas stood, holding out a hand and beckoning the Winchester to take it.

“Come with me. It will be more pleasant on the roof,” he said. “You are still adjusting to moving between Earth and the crypt, I can feel it.”

Dean swallowed, his grace pulsing briefly against his skin as if in assent, and he realized the other angel was right. “Alright,” he agreed, his voice low, and wavering faintly with the echoes of its new ethereal depth. “Thanks, Cas,” he murmured gratefully.

The two of them walked up to the roof, their fingers warm where they stayed laced together, and Dean breathed in deep when the afternoon air swept over his face, the runes over his back briefly humming in response to the turn of the world.

“Unfurl your wings, Dean,” Cas prompted gently. “The breeze, it’s...peaceful.”

Dean looked at him for a moment, really looked, as if parsing through something that only he could see. Whatever it was he was thinking, however, he decided not to interrupt the moment, and so obliged; exhaling deeply as his wings emerged, and began to softly sway. He looked over his shoulder at them, and briefly winced, finding almost as many ruffled and somewhat disarrayed feathers as he did ordered ones. “Guess this is what I get for not lookin’ after them for a week and a half, and then tangling with ‘Krithi over a whistle inside the crypt of Michael,” he remarked, letting out a sigh.

The seraph sat down and crossed his legs, and slowly tugged a section of plumage toward his lap, beginning to comb through the disorderly layers.

“Would you like help, Dean?” Castiel asked, bending down on his knees.

The Winchester seemed somewhat surprised, but then turned his attention to the feathered appendages, carefully stretching one over to Cas’s reach in a gesture of silent consent. He braced himself for the sensation of fingers and grace that was _other_ meeting his own, but when it came, in the form of gentle fingers and an even gentler pulse of affection, he found himself sighing; a part of him giving in to the comfort of the touch.

They sat in silence, their hearts doing lazy breaststrokes in a pool of their shared contentment.

“This feels like a dream,” Dean murmured after some time had passed, looking up to meet the other angel’s gaze where it lay just beneath the high noon sun. “I mean," he explained, "I’ve got wings, I’ve got ‘Krithi sitting cross-legged and damn _smug_ in another dimension, and I’ve got _...you.”_ He finished with a breath, his eyes open in a way that was almost bared. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, but I’ve got a chance.”

The feathers brushing against his knuckles shifted minutely, and Cas gave a small smile, leaning forward to press gently into their warmth. _Of all the universes I would give you, Dean, a chance will always be one of them._ “I believe that I can empathize,” Cas replied. “But then again, I suppose my view of it helps matters.”

“Your view?” Dean asked.

“You see,” the other angel explained, “I’ve wondered over the past years, what my version of heaven would look like- should I ever get to see it.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean asked, taking in the picture of Cas’s face, the softness of his halo painting his features in silhouette. “Any ideas?”

Cas leaned in and stole a chaste kiss, just as quickly pulling away. “This,” he answered simply.

The seraph felt himself blush, and did his best to smirk teasingly. “Why do I get the feeling you’ve been binging the Hallmark channel while my back is turned, huh?”

Cas began to answer, but his words were stolen by another kiss, a soft hush of breath and the press of feathers pulling him close.

If this truly was a chance at happiness, then it was all theirs.

-:-:-:-

In hell, Crowley sat back against his throne, wondering for the nth time that day just _why_ he’d agreed to take on the role of cleanup duty in the weeks following that disaster (trashfire, really), of a business meeting on earth. Dissuading his council of the idiot Winchester’s angelic nature had been no easy task, requiring curses and subtleties to cement the disinformation. But it was worth it, he reminded himself, worth it because it meant an ace up his sleeve with the power of an archangel; and that was a card, a debt, and a favor to call upon that he wanted all to himself.

He sighed, and looked around, finding the empty room that greeted him to be an annoyance.

"Drexel!" he called with a snap of his fingers, waiting until the attendant walked in, clutching his clipboard to his chest like it would keep him alive that much longer. 

"Yes, my lord?" the demon asked, eyes wide.

"Drexel...my, truly _competent,_ secretary," Crowley began, smoothly shifting in his seat and gazing forward with a look of interest. "Have you the weekly correspondence from my mother?"

Over the past handful of months, the odd relationship (if it could even be considered one) between spell-casting mother and red-eyed son had slowly begun to lose its toxicity in some regards, and as Rowena travelled and sight-saw, she sent back letters; at least one by the end of each week, spelled to arrive all together in the morning. Far be it from Crowley to admit it, but getting to sit back and read his mother’s lamentations, and snarky critiques of the world around her, and just the things she’d wished to share with him had begun to become an experience he deeply felt the value of. He got to feel like their lives were connected, for the first time since he was a human child with the buzz of whiskey in his veins, with warm maternal arms holding him close and murmuring into his ear about the stars they could see in the sky above them.

“N-no, sir,” the demon said, folding his arms closer against his body. “I’ve been waiting where they typically arrive, bu-but it would appear that there’s been some sort of delay.”

“A _delay?”_ Crowley repeated, his voice little short of a demand for an explanation.

“I swear, the drop site never changes. It’s the flowery little basket on the desk in her old room. No one but you, or someone with the key can get in, and I have the key right here,” Drexel told him, pulling the thin line of brass out of his pocket. “The letters just haven’t arrived.” He swallowed, and there was a moment of silence.

“Mother’s spell wouldn’t fail,” the king murmured to himself, and then he stood, beginning to walk from the throne room. He motioned for Drexel to come along, and the demon quickly did so, following his steps as they rounded the shadowed halls.

“Where the hell is everyone?” Crowley questioned as they walked. “Shouldn’t this place be bustling with demons, doing whatever it is you all do with your time?”

“I-I don’t know, sir,” Drexel answered. “It’s been quiet for a few days now.”

The ruling salesman frowned. “Go,” he said. “Find out why.”

Drexel nodded, quickly hurrying off, and within the minute Crowley was alone outside his mother’s old room. He rested his hand on the doorknob, and almost carefully turned it open; taking a breath before pushing forth and stepping inside.

He was greeted by the slight presence of dust, but was a touch grateful to note that the space and belongings in it still appeared well-cared for.

“Last she wrote, she’d been visiting a coven in Dubai,” Crowley recollected aloud. “But her next destination was to be a surprise.” He fingered the edges of the dresser to his left.

He frowned.

Whatever was afoot here…he couldn’t put a finger on it.

But something didn’t feel right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens, the plot thickens still...
> 
> Teasers for next time:
> 
> The next chapter is actually one I'm excited to post, so it might go up relatively soon! We get a little touch of basic backstory on Akriti, and as we catch up with the team's research and Dean's seraphim-crash courses, things go in a direction that I've been eagerly waiting to explore for a long time, for which I'll give you three words: angelic fighting technique.
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment on what you thought of today's update, or any noodling predictions on where the elements I've foreshadowed might lead us! (Honestly, even when the predictions aren't exactly what I've written, they give me ideas, ones that often work their way in somewhere along the line). Getting to see your thoughts and exchange comments is honestly one of the best parts of posting, since you all are just so amazing.
> 
> Thank you for reading, as always <3  
> I'll see you at the next one ;)


	28. Learning To Bloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Surprise- when I said I'd be posting again soon, I meant it! I was excited about this chapter already, but going back and reading it over just now has gotten me even more enthusiastic to see what you guys think of it. (I definitely forgot that some things were, in fact, _this_ chapter).
> 
> The music for today's update is Unwind Yourself by Marva Whitney, and Bale Bale by Karthik and Mohana Bhogaraju.
> 
> I'll get out of your way and let you read. Hope you enjoy ;)

That afternoon, Akriti returned from her inventory of the crypt with a thin set of books in her hand, setting them down on the table in the library once she’d gotten the three idiots- er, two angels and one human, all in one place.

She smirked to herself. She was still thinking of names for the trio she’d somehow adopted.

It turned out that over her time as a supernatural being, Akriti had gathered every scrap of knowledge she could and kept it close, having searched through the halls of the crypt itself once she was able in order to find anything that might’ve been buried away. Some texts in the crypt-protected collection had been taken inside from the earth, so they could be brought back into the bunker, (though against Cas’s hands they resonated oddly, like the hum of two notes that weren’t quite the same pitch), but others couldn’t, as if firmly intertwined with the extradimensional spools of energy that allowed them to exist. Most were penned in Akriti’s own hand, her findings over the years relative to what she could do, and the majority of the rest, oddly, seemed to be in a form of enochian that neither Cas nor either of the seraphim could read in its entirety.

The crypt, it appeared, would only reveal as much as it wished to.

They all spent the next several days just sitting and trying to read; Sam glued to every word he could process while Dean and Akriti made trips in and out of the crypt, in part to get Dean more used to it and also so that the older seraph could take things as they went on how to best facilitate the information dump. Because despite her advantage of experience, even she, after all this time, found that things eluded her, and hadn’t recovered more than a few scant artifacts from within the crypt itself. Most of what she’d learned had been from practice, trial and error, and time. Dean wasn’t yet powerful enough to move past the room with which he’d already been acquainted, (and likely wouldn’t be for a long time), but he’d managed to pull something out of a patch of space that seemed to speak to the mechanics of the crypt’s workings. (Not that they could read much of it, unfortunately. Michael was cursed out more than once over the course of their research).

Cas, meanwhile, combed through his memories for anything that would fill in the gaps, any lore on Michael and the crypt’s conception that might give them answers, but he came up short on every count. The crypt did not appear to adhere to any plan of the heavenly host, nor did it answer to them. There was nothing besides the name even factually _linking_ the first archangel to this dimension. So after roughly a day of this, the angel resigned and decided to join Sam in reading anything that could be removed from the premises of the seraph’s realm, poring through Akriti’s written descriptions of her early experiences.

“She discovered so much on her own,” Cas murmured at one point, while the two seraphim were away, and he and Sam were alone across from one another in the library. “She manifested and kept herself safe, despite having just become alone in the world with _…’more wings than I could count, each one threatening to get me and my family burned alive for dark magic by the people I’d known all my life,’”_ he read from the pages in front of him. He believed it spoke volumes about the woman herself that she was willing to share something like this with them, all to help Dean.

“Yeah, I can’t imagine,” Sam said, his face pensieve. He remembered what it had been like when he’d developed powers, been liable to be hunted, but despite how it had alienated him...it hadn’t been the same. At least he’d thought he knew the world he was edging closer to becoming a part of.

“From portions of the writing, I believe Akriti was born sometime in the nineteenth century, within a monarchical province of southern India that was under what historians refer to as British paramountcy,” Cas said, making a noise of thought, then shaking his head in empathy. “The allegations of witchcraft in that time, in particular when levelled against women, were brutal.”

Sam opened his mouth to reply, but behind Cas’s shoulder, the air parted, and the two seraphim walked through- wings and ethereal light dissolving behind them once they stepped back onto earth.

“Hey, we're back,” Akriti announced. “Attempted the art of speed-grooming, which I'm now convinced doesn't exist. You guys find anything interesting so far?” she asked, as she reached up to tie her hair into a braid just over her left shoulder.

The younger Winchester smiled, glancing down at the thin journal in his hands (one of the volumes from more recently, which carried writing primarily in English). “I think I’ve just gotten to the pages where you looked back on the first or second time you tried to fly,” he told her. “Oh, and Cas took a guess at when you were born.”

“Oh yeah?” she asked, wiping off her forehead and loosely crossing her arms. “Where’s your money at, Castiel?”

“Sometime shortly after…” the angel guessed aloud, taking a moment to think. “What the Bunker’s history volumes refer to as the 1858 Queen’s Proclamation?”

Akriti laughed, caught by surprise, and Dean stilled, his eyes briefly going wide.

“Wow, Cas,” the older seraph said. “You’re actually right. I was born in ‘72 that century, not long after that.” She flashed a look at Dean, cocking an eyebrow in jest. “Is that shock I read from you, baby bird?”

"Jeez, I mean-" Dean said, running a hand over his lower lip to keep from stammering. "No. I, uh, knew you'd been in the game for a while, but…" He dropped his wrist, letting the gesture complete his sentence.

"But I act more like someone not far into their thirties?" she filled in. Dean nodded. “Yeah,” she continued. “The existentiality of it all can be a little much, but so far, it hasn’t been all bad. These past few decades, especially? Whoo, I mean, some things around here are _worlds_ better than what it was like when I was little.” She fingered with the edge of her shirt, a loose black band tee that slipped the brown skin of her right shoulder just enough to reveal the edges of the angelic tattoos beneath it. “Like, come on. You guys have as much music as you want whenever you want it, curly fries, _and_ indoor plumbing. Who could ever ask for more?”

“Makes sense when you put it like that,” Dean said. But then something occurred to him. “And, hey, by the way- stop callin’ me _‘baby bird’._ That’s what, the third time? You’re not getting used to that. Not happening.”

Sam had to stifle a laugh, wondering if the nickname was ruffling his brother’s feathers.

“Sure,” she replied evenly. “But if I stop, then I’d bet this entire building’s stash of popcorn that Castiel here would start. So which do you prefer?”

Cas’s expression loosened in consideration, seeming to like that idea.

Dean’s face stilled, and he coughed (since it was either that or choke). “You know what?” he said, trying to force his tone to nonchalance as he gave a laugh that he would never admit was nervous. “Call me whatever you want.” He then glanced around at the walls, the room, before returning his gaze to her. “Hey, we’ve still got daylight to kill,” he realized. “Didn’t you say you had some sort of plan, after we spent the morning crypt-hopping?”

“Oh, yes,” Akriti said, eyes lighting up. “So. Okay. You remember a few days ago, the morning you and Cas got together, when we tangled over that whistle?”

The younger seraph winced, though something in his gaze softened at the reminder of that day between him and Cas. _Goddamnit,_ he thought, willing himself to snap out of it and save the feelings for later when he and his angel were alone. _I’m turning into a sap._

Though, he figured, if any person in the world could do that to him, of course it would be Cas.

“Yeah, I remember,” he answered eventually, dragging a palm over the front of his face. “You wiped my ass out.”

Sam snorted, and Cas had to stifle a murmur of his own. They both could also vividly recall the image of Dean sitting across from them, feathers caught in his hair and cheeks red as they’d ever seen them.

“Right. Fun times,” Akriti said. “But in all seriousness...baby bird, there’s no way I can leave you like that. So in the spirit of you being able to last thirty seconds in a powered fight instead of three, it’s time for some fight training.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Uh- sparring room?” he suggested, rising to his feet, and gently setting down the journal that had been in his hands. He found that questions swam to his tongue, on this new subject of angelic _fighting moves-_ a subject made all the more enticing by the knowledge that these were angelic fighting moves he could _observe,_ without them being outright thrown his way.

Even Castiel seemed intrigued to see what forms and techniques Akriti might have been able to cultivate on her own, without the dictation of the combat regimens followed by soldiers in heaven.

“Yeah, sparring room sounds good,” Akriti said. They began to walk down the hall, Dean silently elbowing his brother in response to all the excitement he could feel circling in the little shit’s veins.

“Perhaps I will be able to help,” Cas offered, once they had all filed inside. “You’re right, that Dean should be able to counter angelic assailants on their own discipline. I’ve yet to teach him what comes from Heaven’s training, but that in concert with all that you might be able to show him would be very educational.”

“You’re right,” the older seraph said. “Maybe I’ll get him started, and then it’ll be your turn to kick his ass?”

“Oh come on,” Dean scoffed. “One, he kinda loves me, he’s not gonna beat me up just because you ask.”

If Castiel’s heart fluttered just a little to hear Dean say that, then no one commented on it. 

“And two,” the Winchester continued, “you beat me so bad in there before because- geez, excuse me if my second time tunneling into another _dimension_ with a key I grew where my soul used to be, the freakin ten-foot feathers made of energy, sproutin’ out of my back, caught me a little _off guard.”_

Sam snorted. “Did he trip?” he asked Akriti, able to read between the lines.

“Like a cartoon character,” she told him. “He took one step, tried to get the wings out of his way while throwing a punch, slipped, and fell in a bundle.” She smirked innocently. “Almost a swaddle.”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Dean said, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Cool it with the burns, wonder twins. Damn the day I handed Sam another psycho with his sense of humor,” he muttered. “You wanna get started on the ass-kicking already? What do I gotta do?”

Akriti held up her hands in a gesture for peace, genuine in intent despite the fact that she was laughing as she did it. “Unfurl your wings,” she directed. “And the blinders you keep over your senses? Release them, little by little.” At the look Dean gave her, she continued, in explanation. “The first step to fighting an angel _as an angel,_ is to have your powers on the table.”

Dean met her gaze, but saw only seriousness, and so sighed, doing as he was asked. He drew his wings forward, and spread them wide, resisting the slight temptation to posture now that they’d begun to take on a healthy shine and lost some of their awkward softness towards the area that met his skin. “Hey, uh,” he asked something occurring to him. “If I’m gonna have to feel things, open up the angel vision, all a’that- mind if I lose the shirts?”

Akriti raised a questioning eyebrow at him, and Dean glanced toward Cas, so quickly it was almost inconsequential. “What?” he reasoned. “The cotton gets all scratchy, and the whole feathers-phasing-through-the-fabric thing- it’s _weird._ You want me to, I don’t know, _focus,_ don’t you?”

Sam had to resist the urge to say aloud: _“and where do you want_ Cas’s _focus to be?”_

Castiel, to his credit, showed no sign of reaction.

Akriti sighed, and finally waved him off, giving him permission to do whatever. _Picky fledglings,_ she thought to herself. “Fine. But the second I see a belt unbuckling, we’re done here,” she muttered, just loud enough for the other angels to hear it.

Dean snorted. He cleared his throat, and quickly stowed his wings inside, (trying to move them faster than his normal pace, but not to the point of straining), and then did away with his flannel and canvas before unfurling the swathes of plumage once more.

“You’ll need to really work them out to pick up the kind of speed that’ll help you in a fight,” Akriti told him, giving an approving nod to his subtle effort. “But that’ll take time. For now, let’s see how much of the rest we can get going. Open up,” she said, gesturing gently. “Take in the room. Just...steep in it, for a minute. See the way you were able to see by the treeline outside that diner.”

The younger seraph nodded, shuffling on his feet, and he closed his eyes, breathing out and slowly pulling away from the filters over his sight; his hearing; the smells and tastes and _feelings,_ all the senses that mortal words could never quantify and let them fall away like walls of sand. He blinked to find grace seeping into his gaze, but he didn’t fight the slow bubbling in his chest, welling inside him as colors heightened and spread to form shades and tones and textures he didn’t know existed. The earth seemed to sigh beneath his feet, and so did Sam’s soul across the room; briefly stirring inside the human body that hummed with energy and invoked every fiber of love and protection meant to be inspired in an angel for god's creations. As little as a week before, Dean might’ve frozen and pulled away from this, might’ve felt too far removed from the person he knew himself to be and so tried to pressure his lifeblood into submission. But he wasn’t scared anymore. He didn’t have to be, not of this.

Not of what he could do.

When the world’s shift had run its course and Dean could feel every fiber of the walls around him, could trace Cas’s face without lifting a finger, could feel the pockets of air clutching tight to his every feather, it was like he was a sunflower whose petals had truly opened.

“I’m ready,” he murmured, and his voice rose and fell in rippling echoes at its edges, vast seams of power woven, ready and brushing just beneath his spoken syllables.

“Now _there’s_ an angel,” Akriti said, evidently pleased with what she felt from him. She took a breath and drew forward a measure of her grace as well, her eyes taking on a glint that spoke to danger and strength, despite the fact that the others in the room with her knew she wouldn’t hurt them.

She began to slowly circle, and Dean moved to mirror her, his fists slowly tightening as energy began to saturate the space beneath his wrists.

Akriti’s wings flared out from between her shoulder blades, vanes swift and sharp as if in focus, almost scouting their environment. “What you need to understand about sparring head-on like this,” she began, speaking amid the crackle that the air held close like a prelude to the first move, “is that you’re not likely to get in any real fights like this, nor should you. Subtle, fast wing movements, _precise_ use of your powers alongside the way you normally fight, that’s what you need to cultivate over time. But the first step to doing that is practice like _this,_ where you’re forced to learn how to use your wings- until fighting like the being that you are is second nature.” She made a gesture with her hand, prompting him to break the held breath of their defensive stances. “Here. Come at me.”

Dean felt a moment of hesitation, but cut past it and swept forward, one hand angled low near her center of gravity while the other went high toward her jaw. But he quickly realized what he was meant to be learning, when one of her middle wings came down and beat him aside- throwing him off balance while another sheaf of feathers gave him a brutal swipe to the chest, disorienting him long enough for Akriti’s hand, alight and hissing with energy, to come down and heat the air just below her opponent’s neck.

The younger seraph froze in place, until the offending fingers pulled away.

“Damn,” he breathed aloud.

Akriti exhaled in mild satisfaction. “Damn right.” She gave him a moment to process, and slowly spread her veils of plumage - a gesture all the more intimidating for what it was now known they could do - and held up a hand, beckoning him forward. “Alright, wonder boy,” she said.

“Again.”

Dean steeled his jaw.

It was going to be a long afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teasers for next time:  
> Angel fight training continues, but tensions subtly rise on a subject regarding Cas in a way that throws Dean for a loop. Meanwhile...a familiar face in the form of a certain red-haired hunter, at long last makes her way onto the stage.
> 
> I'll see you guys there. Thank you so much for reading, and if you'd like, feel free to leave a comment! It'd make my day! <3


	29. Arrival (Fighting With You)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heyy, everyone! I hope you're all having a wonderful day. Today's chapter is a longer one and one I'm really happy to get to share with you, so I'm going to hurry as I type this so you can sit down and read it that much faster. (Or stand, or walk, or whatever your favored comfy spot is).
> 
> The music I'm pairing with this update is Teach Me Tonight by Nancy Wilson and Ron McMaster, Tut Tut Tut Tut by Gillian Hills, and Along Comes Mary by The Association. If you guys listen to the songs and see the connections, these ones in particular make me a happy person. Let me know if you have any thoughts ;)
> 
> Anyway, I'll let you dive into the chapter now. I'll see you at the end notes!

It took a few goes for Dean to get a feel for _wings_ (both his and those of his opponent) being just like any other limb, but once he started to understand it, he found himself regrouping, beginning to duck and weave in some of the right places. Trickles of instinct slowly rose in his mind, and his reflexes heightened, as if strengthening in time with the pulse of his grace.

As the fight became something of an actual fight, Dean ventured into the land of blocking incoming thrusts and punches with his feathery shields, realizing that for a part of him so close to what was once his soul, his wings were _strong._ The topmost pair acted in an effort to _protect_ almost without him having to direct them, and the lowest pair offset the impact of blows and kept him stable as they had when he was in the air. And then there was the middle set, which appeared to be the champions of the ring: capable of arcing swiftly from a set of joints more flexible and versatile than the Winchester had previously guessed, to deliver blows with varying degrees of precision and force. The younger of the seraphim was by no means an expert, his movements experimental and less than swift, but he was taking to the ideas he was meant to be exercising quickly; dipping his feet in the proverbial water and (without more than a little trepidation), not trying to steer away from it.

As the sparring continued, few words being spoken between the active pair as they let the movements unfold, Sam watched with awe written over his face, eyes widening and heartbeat hitching every time his brother dodged a move or tried to counter with one of his own. The rich feathers of both seraphim, half strokes of ink and the other half deep honey brown flared wide as if to fill the room, and they shone with something like _magic._

“He’s doing good, you think?” Sam asked, his voice low as he leaned toward Cas but kept his gaze trained on Dean and Akriti.

“He is,” Cas murmured in reply, and there was a note of something like pride as he said it. “He will need time to master his abilities, as Akriti said, but he’s taking to this quickly.” The angel smiled. “It almost reminds me of what it was like when I was placed in combat training for the first time.”

“Oh yeah?” Sam said, sensing a story of some kind as they both watched Dean, just narrowly ducking to avoid a sword-like sweep of feathers that threatened to connect with his neck.

“From the beginning, I had wings that...set me apart,” Castiel recounted after a moment, no grief in his voice as he did so. “Dark. Broad, where those of most angels in my garrison were lighter- less commanding, you might say.” He exhaled, humming in thought. “They were rather like Dean’s, actually,” he mused softly.

Sam smiled, and glanced to his side for a moment. “I can imagine,” he said simply.

The two of them continued to watch, and after a quarter of an hour had passed, Dean stepped back, his head straight but his breathing pattern nonetheless heavy with exertion. The heavenly sails over his back - if sails could double as swords - stretched and flared, shifting and rippling until each rachis could once more find its equilibrium. “Shit,” he panted, exhaling deeply. “Can- can we call this round?”

“Yeah, we can,” Akriti replied, shaking out her feathers as well and folding them in before they disappeared altogether. She wiped a thin layer of sweat off her forehead, rolling her shoulders as if willing the space her wings had occupied to settle. “This is a good start,” she told him. “You’ve got a ways to go, but you’re catching on.”

Dean tipped his chin in reply, but groaned as the heat rolled from him in waves, his senses pulsing as his focus left the fight and then began to take in everything that circled the room around him.

Sam’s awe, in beads like sunkist dew snapping against a rise of glass. The walls settling, and the sigils burned into the cement settling along with them. Akriti’s satisfied smile, the push that carried the corner of her mouth and the places in her thoughts from where it came. The way the weight of every body bore against the matted floor beneath them, and _Cas,_ Cas’s-

“Dean,” came a voice, and a hand on his shoulder, sending every molecule spinning at the sensation of touch. “Breathe. Return to the place in your mind that you find comfortable and pull the curtains of your grace behind you.”

“How-” Dean began to ask, but his words weren’t removed from the resonant properties of his power, and so he shut his mouth, shut his eyes (though that didn’t make a difference). _Damnit,_ he thought, trying and failing to be spiteful. _Why did the world have to be so…_ much?

“Just breathe,” the voice murmured, softening. “Breathe in, and let the piece of you that feels as if it is balanced on its toes find the ground.”

The rough gentleness reached, and somehow, the words appeared to be the right ones.

Dean blinked, and felt it working, the drapes he’d drawn aside in his mind to expose his senses closing part of the way. His wings pressed against his back as if to give him strength, strength the seraph took in stride.

He exhaled, and looked gratefully into the blue eyes that stared searchingly into his.

“Thanks, Cas,” he murmured back, his voice returned to normal. “I’m- I’m good.” He cleared his throat, slightly embarrassed, and glanced at both Akriti and his brother, giving them a nod of reassurance. “Just let in a little...too much.”

Cas thought for a moment, and then pressed a soft kiss just to the side of Dean’s lips before letting his shoulder go. “Shall we continue, then?”

Dean seemed surprised by the display of affection, but the brush of his fingers over the flush in his cheeks silently said that he didn’t mind. The Winchester glanced at Akriti, who nodded and then gestured to Cas. “Go ahead,” she told them. “I’m gonna make a pit stop in your kitchen and then circle back.” She broke off, declaring to herself: “Your girl’s earned herself a milkshake.”

Sam laughed, and told her to go ahead, watching as she headed out.

As her footsteps receded down the hall, Cas removed his trenchcoat and suit jacket, folding them and placing them to the side along with Dean’s flannel. He began to roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt, but then paused; and glanced over at Sam long enough for his mouth to turn up at its corners in a sly smile.

 _Oh?_ The younger Winchester thought. But the sentiment behind it was curious and encouraging, and so when Cas turned back toward Dean, he went ahead and began to undo the top buttons on the last stretch of fabric between all eyes and his bare, muscled torso, maintaining eye contact as he did so. Dean’s eyes widened, his throat releasing a sound of surprise Sam wished he could’ve thought to record, and Castiel, with no more than the ghost of a smirk on his face, didn’t stop until he’d finished- setting aside the shirt as well and thus rendering himself equally unhindered above the waist.

“Al-alright then,” Dean choked out, after a stifling moment under Cas’s gaze that left his wings fidgeting and face flushed like he was a teenage girl. “You, uh- you wanna get going?”

Cas broke the intensity of his stare, and exchanged a laughing look with Sam before he stepped forward, breathing out and calling a portion of his grace to the surface. His eyes briefly took on a ring of light, and his expression levelled out, fists raising as if this were any other sparring session they’d ever had.

“Wait,” the older of the Winchesters said, face sobering for a moment. “No wings, Cas?” There was something else in the way he said it, like he knew what he was asking, and Castiel stilled, so subtly that it almost went unnoticed.

Almost.

"No,” the lord's former angel said finally, his tone even. "I believe you would be best served if allowed to focus with fewer complexities in your way."

Dean met his stare with narrowed eyes, and the two of them stood unmoving, Cas neatly keeping his thoughts closed away.

"You've fought numerous angels as a human,” the older angel spoke, effectively avoiding any line of unspoken conversation. “But now that you are capable, you must learn to recognize the flow of grace behind each move, understand the technique of the heavenly host on a deeper level."

Dean gritted his teeth slightly, but didn’t protest, settling his shoulders into a defensive stance. “Fine,” he said, letting his feathers spread wide in a gesture of opposition. “Sounds great.”

There was a flicker of hurt, but also a flash of defiance in Castiel’s eyes, and Dean caught it- wanting to understand it, understand why Cas was locking him out all of a sudden. He reached out with his grace, to read Cas’s energies and _feel_ what he was feeling, to maybe make it better, but he was stunned when he found walls in his way, walls years in the making that matched his efforts try for try. He’d never seen them before, and suddenly realized it was because they’d been hidden all this time.

Because he simply hadn’t looked hard enough to find them.

 _Damnit,_ Cas, Dean thought frustratedly.

 _Let me_ in.

The two of them began to circle, and Akriti slipped silently back into the sparring room, handing Sam a thick milkshake that matched the one in her other hand. “What happened?” she asked quietly, the tense energy in the room like a rubber band pulled taut over what had only minutes before been light and mirthful.

As Dean and Cas geared up to spar physically, she realized, their energies were poised for combat with one another as well, Cas’s aura in the spectral plane firm on the defensive.

It did not, however, appear that Dean had any intention of walking away without breaking it.

“I don’t know,” Sam answered. “This happens a lot, them...getting into it with one another. But it was always because they cared so much about each other, only refused to actually acknowledge it.” He shook his head, watching the two angels continue to step around one another, in a way that was now more literal than in all the years before but somehow just as tense and stubborn and annoyingly born of denial.

Akriti sighed, and held out her glass. “To our work with those idiots never being quite over,” she said.

Sam sighed in the same fashion, and clinked his glass against hers. He made a wry face.

“At least they finally made out.”

-:-:-:-

It was an average day for the rest of Lebanon, Kansas; that being fairly uneventful as a worn, but well-loved yellow ‘76 AMC Gremlin drove through its streets and then its off-roads, and pulled in outside the building its driver knew as the Bunker.

The woman called by those who mattered as Charlie Bradbury, with red hair brushing over her eyes and a vintage Marvel tee adorning her shoulders, stepped out of the car and took out her phone, pulling up her messages with Sam. She’d told him about the case she’d last been following, but he and Dean weren’t expecting her, so she could only really hope they were still home like Sam had told her they probably would be.

She tapped on his number and dialed, holding the device to her ear and waiting for someone to pick up.

A few layers of stone and cement away, inside the Bunker, Dean had just blocked an uppercut to the jaw with a wing, grunting from the force of Cas’s grace (now somehow hardened to condense beneath an even harder fist) against his feathers, and bit back a curse at the brief flare of pain.

Sam winced at the sight, not looking forward to when this maintaining, fragile tension would inevitably spill over. He opened his mouth to ask Akriti something, when he felt something vibrating in his pocket, and realized he was getting a call. There must’ve been a bead of relief that rose to the surface in his mind, because the older of the seraphim in the room made a sound akin to a laugh. “Go ahead and see who it is,” she told him. “I’ll keep an eye on the children.”

The hunter gave her a mirthful, but grateful smile, and left the room to do just that.

He took out his phone, and he was caught by surprise- picking up the call the second he read the caller ID. “Charlie?” he asked.

“Hey, Sam!” she responded, happy to hear his voice. “Is this, uh- is this a good time for you guys?”

“Yeah,” Sam answered, one hand running loosely over the top of his hair. “We’re not on a case, just back at the Bunker. What do you need? How’s that, uh,” he paused for a second, verifying his memory before continuing, “missing artifact case going?”

“I’ll tell you about it…” she answered, “if you come outside, and maybe let me in?”

Sam’s eyes went wide, and he immediately headed up for the door, skipping steps before pulling the hinge of steel as wide as it would go. He hung up when he saw her, and grinned, closing the entryway behind him and walking out to where she was standing by her car.

“Now there’s a face I haven’t seen in a while,” she beamed once he was close enough, reaching up to pull Sam into a hug.

“Right back at you,” he breathed in reply.

She stood back, letting her arms fall, and the two of them just took one another in, surrogate sister and brother alike. 

“Where’re Dean and Cas?” she asked, peering behind the younger of the two hunters she’d been expecting. “Supply run?”

“No, they’re…” Sam trailed off, his face opening in realization. Charlie didn’t _know._ “You know what?” he decided. “They're just inside. I’ll take you to them.”

“Ooh, I smell intrigue,” Charlie said, nudging him in the elbow. “Let me grab my bag, I’m right behind you.”

“I’ve got it,” Sam said once the trunk was popped, lifting it out and slinging it over his shoulder. “If our visit to Moondor taught us one thing,” he remarked teasingly, “it’s that a queen should never have to carry her own things.”

The woman known to many as a force of fandom not to be trifled with laughed, bowing gratefully in response. “Right you are. Lead the way, good sir.”

The younger Winchester smiled. Once Charlie’s car was locked up tight, they headed inside, passing the other rooms and heading to the door of the sparring room, which Sam then remembered Charlie would’ve never seen before either.

“Dean and Cas are...in a closet?” she asked, taking in the unassuming appearance of the spelled door. Then, she repeated. “They’re in the closet?”

Sam had to bite his lip to keep from laughing, because finally, after years, that was no longer true in either respect.

“No, actually,” he told her. He cast out his thoughts to Akriti, letting her know they were coming in (just in case the tension had continued to build in the grand total of three minutes he’d been gone), and after a moment or so, he turned to Charlie, meeting her gaze with a sparkle in his own. “A lot’s changed since the last time we saw you.”

Then before she could process that, he opened the door and nudged her through, making the very first thing she saw _feathers-_ beautiful, shining feathers, almost a whole wall of them. And then _Dean,_ out of whose back the feathers seemed to be coming.

Like _wings._

She was stunned, utterly _stunned,_ but she watched as those wings (wings, because they were wings, they were real, bona fide, honest-to-god _wings)_ arced through the crackling air, just barely managing to block a glancing blow from Castiel.

With whom Dean appeared to be sparring.

Like an _angel_ would.

“...Sam?” she whispered. “Are those…?”

“Wings?” came a voice from the far wall, where an unfamiliar woman stood leaning against the support pillar behind her, mostly-empty milkshake glass in hand and an easy grin over her face. “Yep.”

“Dean...is, an angel, Charlie,” Sam explained, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Turns out he always has been, but we just, uh, didn’t know it.”

“Angel. As in _heaven’s_ angels? As in...he’s an _angel?”_ Charlie repeated, her voice heightening until it was only a breath.

“Not like heaven, no,” the other woman said, walking over to the doorway and extending a hand to shake. “Different species. Unaffiliated. But that aside, I’m Akriti,” she said in introduction. “Currently the one who’s taken it upon herself to babysit these three. And also an angel, like Dean.” She paused, before clarifying. “We’re called seraphim, by the way. As in, started out basically human, but somewhere along the way got reborn with wings- about three times the average, and angel grace.”

Charlie’s eyes were wide, but she shook the hand of the beautiful woman that was offered, trying (her efforts valiant) to take it all in.

“It’s a lot to take in, I know,” Akriti said empathetically, then laughed as she read the look on Charlie’s face. “Honestly, my first reaction involved a lot more panic, so I think you’re doing pretty well so far.”

Charlie laughed as well, and dropped Akriti’s hand before her gaze drifted back to where Dean and Cas were locked in their exercise of combat, tension and fatigue evident in both their faces alongside something unidentifiable that made neither one of them willing to slow down or focus on anything else.

Sam resisted the urge to cradle his forehead with his palm, and cleared his throat, directing his thoughts at Dean in an effort to cut through his brother’s consumed state of mind. “Dean, Cas,” he called out. “Look who’s here!”

The two angels stopped at their moves- Dean panting slightly, while Cas held his breaths defiantly tight against his lungs. They maintained eye contact for a few moments longer, but Castiel broke away first, looking off at the wall before his attention was drawn behind his sparring opponent to the doorway. His face loosened, eyes widening, despite how Dean’s jaw was still tight. “Dean,” he said, and when he was ignored, the former soldier’s voice hardened, as if wishing he didn’t have the patience for this. “Behind you,” he gestured with only the slightest hint of dryness.

Dean turned around, and he was stunned into silence when his eyes met Charlie’s face and his senses (now released from their singular direction on Cas, and his efforts to try to break Cas’s emotions while they sparred) read her aura, and told him it was really _her._

“Ch- _Charlie?”_ he asked, stepping forward as the plumage over his shoulders rose in surprise. “You-” he cut himself off, his face going pale when he realized what it meant that his wings were visible. _Shit._ “This-” he began. “I can explain-”

“Save it, angelcakes,” Charlie told him, cutting him off, and her face lit up as she succeeded in utterly shutting him up. “Now,” she declared.

“It's time to tell me _everything.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's right, all hail queen Charlie! Our favorite red-haired hunter has finally arrived!  
> If any of you have thoughts on her reaction to Dean being an angel, feel free to leave a comment. I'm curious as to how to sat for you guys.
> 
> Meanwhile, teasers for next time:  
> Oh boy.  
> Let's see.  
> The first half is my attempt at gloriousness, with banter, fluff and storytelling alike now that the queen has rolled into town, but the back half takes a turn in tone; with a variety of hurt/comfort that's been getting even me emotional as I read it over.  
> We find out what Cas has been keeping locked up, and more importantly...so does Dean.
> 
> I look forward to seeing you all there. Have a lovely one, precious peonies <3  
> (Feel free to leave a comment, even if it's just to say hello ;) )


	30. Young And Beautiful (Fighting For You)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everybody! Here it is. The (a?) chapter we've been waiting for. Banter, and hurt/comfort, in a 3.5k serving.
> 
> By the way, if anyone remembers the chapter speedrun I mentioned a while back, where I said I might post with only two days in between chapters? Turns out that's basically what I ended up doing this week, and what I might be able to continue to do for a little while. So...yeah. Go figure. Enjoy ;)
> 
> The music for this update is Young And Beautiful by Lana Del Ray, and Flying Solo by the Julie And The Phantoms cast.
> 
> I'll let you guys get to reading now. See you on the other side :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as an extra note, my friend Nepenthene- who recently started posting an _amazing_ story about [Teenaged-Dean's first case](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28964769/chapters/71077815), by the way, stemming from an entry in John Winchester's journal- said that based on last week's chapter, I should add an additional song rec, in the form of I'm Too Sexy, sung by Dean Winchester himself.
> 
> Thought some of yall might appreciate that ;)

Dean stowed away his wings and bent down to pick up his shirts, starting to grab Cas’s clothes for him before hesitating, and then leaving them where they were. If Castiel noticed this, he didn’t comment, walking over and managing his clothing himself.

 _What hurt aren’t you showing me, Cas?_ Dean thought desperately, looking at him and trying to see more, but even after the past hour of mental and physical sparring, those damn walls that were keeping Cas’s aura fenced off were all still firmly in place.

_Why won’t you let me help?_

Castiel gave no reaction to suggest that he could feel what Dean was thinking, and turned away with his suit jacket and trenchcoat slung over one elbow, appearing to be settling for just his dress shirt.

Meanwhile, Charlie seemed unaffected by the tension in the room, standing and talking to Akriti with a look of slight awe in her face while Sam smiled and pitched in from behind her. The younger Winchester, however, glanced up at his brother once Cas had walked over to Akriti’s side, silently asking if Dean was okay.

The look he received in return made it clear that Dean, for all his newfound power, honestly didn’t know.

“So,” Charlie was saying once Dean finished putting on his shirts again and joined the group by the sparring room’s door, folding the vastness of his senses away so he wouldn’t find himself distracted by all the stimulus. “You guys can _fly?”_

“Yeah,” Akriti answered, with a smile that reached her eyes. “Dean here actually tried it for the first time the other day.”

Charlie’s gaze went wide, every moment of childhood dreaming coming back to her at once now that it was all _real. “No,”_ she spoke slowly, just barely holding her gasp against a sharpened, steely edge. “Dean Winchester did not _fly,_ with his beautiful, ten-foot wide _angel wings,_ and not _tell me about it.”_

Dean winced. “I didn’t know how to tell you over the phone,” he said in equal parts defense and apology, scratching the back of his neck. He then scoffed. “I mean, what, you’re in the middle of a case, and I’m supposed to just call you and up and go, ‘hey, Charlie, guess what- I’m an _angel_ now, and apparently I’m like Tony Hawk but part bird? _Literally?’”_

 _“Yes,_ you do that,” Charlie told him. “And then you send photos, and video, and I drive down to see for myself. You do not have me show up in the dark on any of this, have Sam try to tell me that you and Cas are - or apparently aren’t? - in the closet, and then push me in here, to this giant room where you guys are having a day of _angel fight training.”_ Her tone was mirthful despite its seriousness, pinning down her targets (because she was right) just like she never failed to do.

Dean’s mouth opened and closed in quick succession, processing everything she’d said. “Wait. The _closet?”_ Then it hit him.

 _That_ closet.

He groaned, cringing and cursing his little brother out at once as his forehead momentarily met his palm. “Well, alright, if you’re looking for current events,” he began, tentatively glancing to the side and trying to meet Cas’s eyes. “Cas and I are…” he trailed off, looking for the right words. “How’d he put it the other day?” he tried, in an effort to make his other half say something, anything.

When that didn’t work, however, Sam grinned, perfectly happy to fill in. _“Romantically involved,”_ he repeated from memory, (complete with gleefully teasing finger quotes), exchanging a subtle high-five with Akriti at the refreshment of the dialogue.

Charlie’s eyes went wide. “Dean!!” she cried, punching him squarely in the arm. “You finally got together, and you didn’t call me about that either?”

Dean grimaced and clutched the area she’d almost certainly bruised, but his surrogate sister clearly wasn’t yet finished.

“Have we celebrated yet?” she asked. “My god, who finally made the first move on who? I have to know. I have to know _everything.”_

“Come on, I’ve got ice cream in the kitchen,” Akriti said. “We’ve been doing nothing but read and try to teach Dean for the past three days, so if we’re doing storytime, then consider me on _board.”_

Charlie beamed, and the five of them made their way down the hall.

They entered the kitchen, and as the two women took charge of the counter, Sam decided to follow them instead of sitting down alongside Cas- giving his brother and the angel the moment he knew they needed together.

“Cas?” Dean murmured, looking down at where the silent figure had decided to seat himself.

It took a few moments, but slowly, Cas at last met Dean’s eyes with a look of regret, his stony defiance finally fracturing. _I’m sorry,_ his face said. _You caught me off guard, and I’m afraid._ The seraph could feel it, like their connection wasn’t wholly walled off any longer, and so he sat down on the neighboring stool, tenderly rubbing the spot between Cas’s shoulders. _It’s okay,_ the gesture said back. _I’m here._

_You don’t have to be afraid to trust me._

“We’ll talk later tonight,” the Winchester promised quietly. “Okay?”

Cas sighed. He said nothing, but leaned in closer to the comforting touch.

It wasn’t a yes, but for now, Dean took it as a win.

“Alright,” Akriti’s voice announced from across the room, having used her grace-enabled powers just a little bit to snap perfect scoops of vanilla and chocolate alike into the set of bowls. “Time to spill, lovebirds.” All of them sat down- Charlie and the seraph who appeared to be her new best friend situating themselves across from the subjects of their interrogation, and Sam, their assistant in crime, was perched at the table’s end.

Cas looked at them in mild confusion, and Dean shifted in place, his shoulders fidgeting the way his wings likely would’ve been if they’d been visible. He shot Sam a look, as if labelling him a traitor for siding with those intent on his persecution, and the younger brother simply shrugged in innocence, claiming neutrality (aka lying out of his ass).

“Fine,” Dean answered dryly, submitting to the reality he couldn’t escape (that being the reality of this conversation) as he spooned some of the ice cream in front of him into his mouth. “Where do you want us to start?”

“Who broke the ice?” Charlie asked. “If, by _ice,_ anyway, we mean the glaring wall of gay tension that’s been building up for _years_ now.”

Cas’s eyes squinted in thought, whereas Dean’s went wide, throat almost closing entirely. “Whoa,” he blew out. _“What?”_

The surrogate sister and angelic cousin exchanged a look, the former an expression of surprise and the other the same, as well as partly a wince of apology.

“Okay, so he’s not in full denial,” Charlie said, “...but he’s still kind of in denial.”

“Pretty much,” Sam replied, swallowing the spoonful of frozen cream in his mouth. “The way I understand it, Dean was actually the one who made the first move, believe it or not. But then he managed to suppress his memory of the whole thing for like half a week, so I don't know if it counts.”

The older Winchester in question winced, and Charlie gaped, appearing to be at a loss. _How?_ she thought. _How can they manage to be so excruciatingly_ dramatic?

“What Sam says is true,” Castiel put in, breaking his silence now that no one else was speaking. “Dean was- to put it simply, overwhelmed by the stress of...what was his tense, mindset, at the time,” the angel said, skirting around the details of why Dean had been in such a place, or the residual guilt he still felt over those reasons.

Dean and Akriti both made noises of caring indignance on his behalf, aware of exactly what he was thinking, and with stern, compassionate looks, they prompted him to continue.

“He needed an anchor. Balance.” Cas then shrugged, leaning back slightly before thinking better of it, and instead leaning toward Dean. “I was there.”

“What Casanova over here means, is I planted one on him,” Dean said plainly, before looking down at where Cas’s head perched against his shoulder and gave him an encouraging smile. “Right?”

“Yes, Dean,” Cas chuckled. “You 'planted one on me', only to promptly forget about it until after Akriti arrived and managed to dispel the primary source of your anxiety.”

Dean made a face. “You helped, you know,” he said.

“So how did he remember?” Charlie asked. “And also, jeez, Dean,” she added, shaking her head. “Really? You kissed Cas and you managed to _forget?_ You had to be _that_ guy?”

“You try wrangling the nuclear warhead that's replaced your soul when you’re freaked out of your mind,” the subject seraph told her, scoffing. “Then tell me I’m _that guy.”_

Charlie took this in, and then her body language softened, seeming to understand some of what the couple weren’t describing.

“Actually, Dean,” Sam said, glancing over at Akriti before returning his gaze to his brother. “How _did_ you remember? You figured out how to fly, I went back to bed, and by the time I’m drinking coffee later in the day…”

“They finally got their nonsense together,” the older of the two seraphim finished.

Dean snorted. He looked to his left and felt Cas's gaze on his, allowing him to answer on his own. "I guess...I'm not really shoving the grace- _my,_ grace, in the corner anymore, right? So the stuff that got locked up with it came _back,_ or something like that.” He shifted his eyes to those of his brother. “It's like I told you I would, Sam," he finished, giving a small shrug. "I'm not fighting it."

The four listeners felt something soften inside them, and Cas chose to lean in further to Dean's side (letting himself be wrapped in his love's warm energies), as Sam gave him a grateful smile.

"How did all this start, Dean?" Charlie asked, her voice quieted in sincerity. "When did you find out you were an angel?"

Dean exchanged a glance with his brother, and with as much mirth and levity as he could, he started to tell the story.

"Okay, so," he began, "we were out on a case, right, and…"

He recounted everything from the past few weeks worth telling, all the things he'd done and discovered he could do, and outside, the rain began to gently pitter patter over the Bunker's roof- carrying as voices bubbled together, and daylight waned with the sun's descent.

Sometime after night truly fell, and what appeared to have become a dinner of ice cream and other confections, Charlie extracted a promise that Dean show her his flying the next day and then went to get settled in her room; finally leaving the angelic couple alone together, now in the hall outside Dean's room.

"That was a rather nice evening," Cas murmured, looking down at where his hands were held in Dean's. "I enjoyed hearing the story of your grace from your perspective." His voice fell. "Even if I'm well aware of parts you skipped."

Dean held his gaze, and without response slowly pushed open his door, motioning for Cas to step inside. _No more stalling,_ the gesture said.

The lord's former angel bit his lip, but did as asked, knowing he couldn't put this off any longer. The door handle was tugged closed, and Dean moved to stand by his bed, crossing his arms and breathing in as if bracing himself for what came next.

"Why can't I see your wings, Cas?" he asked, not beating around the core of the friction. "Why...is there something wrong with my eyes? My grace?"

Castiel's eyes widened, something in his chest aching once it processed what it was being asked.

"No, Dean," he breathed, hating that the man in front of him might've even felt forced to consider that. "No, no, there is nothing wrong with you."

"Then _why?_ ‘Cause I can’t believe I never realized, but I’ve never seen them before. Not since the shadows in that damn barn where we met, when I was basically human, and not _once_ since I angeled up. I mean, Cas, you ran from that field when 'Krithi had me flying, which, I don't know- maybe I freaked you out or something. Fine. But then we're up on the roof after that and you're telling me I should pull out my wings, like you're really _feeling_ something only you won't admit it, and then, god, what happened in _there,_ in the freakin sparring room? Barriers I didn’t even know you had popping up like Pennywise in little-kid Georgie’s rain gutter?" He broke off, running a hand through the front of his hair to keep the rising emotions curbed. "Damnit, Cas...I just want to _help_ you. We're in this together, don't you get that? Whatever you're hurting over, whatever you're not telling me, we'll _deal_ with it- we'll make it better, like we always do. You don't have to wall your baggage off like this."

He was met with silence, and so Dean stepped forward, resting his hands tenderly, but firmly on Cas's shoulders. "Please, Cas," he spoke desperately. "If not for you, then for me."

Cas's gaze fell, and his breath wavered, eyes closing as he nodded in silence. "You know I could never deny you, Dean," he whispered.

The former soldier, more vulnerable than he'd ever thought he'd be made to feel, moved to sit down on the bed's edge, and after a few moments Dean joined him in the space to the right.

"You can't see my wings because...I've hidden them from view. I've bound them, and that part of my grace, because they…" He looked away, his face contorting in a look of pain. "You would abhor it if you understood."

"Why?" Dean asked, his voice a breath and little more.

"The Fall, Dean," Cas said. "But even before that, with the Leviathans, then Purgatory, and then losing my grace only to recover it in shreds. The toll of those events on my wings, they are broken, and twisted as a result, they were-" His voice started to shake, and he had to stop, taking a moment to compose himself. "I'm sorry. This...it isn't easy for me to speak about."

Dean's aura of warmth seemed to envelop him like a blanket, and the Winchester's fingers tightened where they moved to hold Castiel's.

"Then show me," Dean told him. "Let me in."

"Dean. I can’t-”

"Please.”

The air was still. Dean’s gaze was filled only with the wish to help, with longing to do for the angel in front of him what this angel had so many times done for him.

_Please._

Cas all but clutched the breath he was holding. “As you wish,” he conceded. He closed his eyes and slowly reached for the barriers he’d so carefully, achingly constructed, handling them as if they were bandages that concealed an old wound from view. He drew them aside, just enough, the underside like the remnants of crusted, celestial gauze.

And then Dean could feel it, the weight of something he’d never seen before.

"Cas," he whispered, his eyes glowing as he reached forward, and let his empathic abilities read it all. "The way you bound yourself, it- it’s like…” He struggled for the right words. _Like a line of iron stitches soaked in whiskey._ His grip tightened, but it was fiercely protective, despite the way the sensations wracked him from inside. He tried to focus, to see closer, to see beneath to what these creased swathes of light were hiding, because the way Castiel had done this made Dean’s lifeblood curdle; the way it was strong, but not _right,_ and insisting to him that he couldn’t leave it the way it was.

Insisting, _begging_ that he _do_ something.

"Cas," he decided, not needing to think again. "I'm gonna pull these staples out."

Castiel's eyes widened, but before he could respond, Dean flooded him with _heat,_ directing it over the metaphysical bindings and willing them, _commanding_ them to melt under his power. _I have the power of an **archangel,**_ he told- _demanded,_ of the spellwork that stood in his way. _**You will obey. __**_

_**_Free him._ ** ___

Within moments, it was over, and when the section of grace that had been pinned over itself came loose...it was like witnessing a ray of light that was scarred and burned by shadow, a sun whose own flares had begun to eat it away. The afflicted angel gasped, groaning, as his wings rose to the surface in the spectral plane, no longer limited to just their echoes or false cries in the space behind him. 

And where once there had been broad, rich feathers with a shine, a _life_ to rival Dean’s own, now there were only lengths of light that took the form of charred bone, adorned by no more than a few dozen ashen vanes all but slipping from their shape. 

This was why Cas couldn’t fly, Dean realized, all the fight drained out of him. 

This is what _hurt_ so much. 

Castiel shuddered, jaw tight around a gasp as he adjusted to the sensation of his wings bared against the brushing currents of the spectral dimensions. He flexed the handful of rachis that remained, and tried to ignore the dead sear of black that pushed out like burnt veins from the crux - now the graveyard - of his primaries. 

Dean stared, frozen, rendered wordless at the sight of it. 

His grace reached out as if considering providing comfort, but then drew back before it could touch. 

Castiel, once leader of his garrison and God's chosen, could only look away in shame. 

“Have you seen what you wished to see, Dean?” the angel who was suddenly smaller than he’d ever been asked, the remains of his wings folding close like hollow, crackling reeds. “Do you understand now?” 

Dean let the grace fade from his eyes and tried to find Cas’s gaze, reaching forward with a hand when it didn’t turn to him.

_Oh, Cas,_ he nearly whispered. 

“Hey. All I see,” he answered, cupping the quivering chin and gently tilting it toward him, “is you hurting, and keeping it from me because you got it in your head that you had to.” 

“Didn’t I?” Cas asked, his voice at the edge of fragility. “Even your grace abhors this.” 

“I couldn’t abhor you if I tried, _ol hoath,”_ Dean told him, slipping into the comfort of the enochian endearment. He shifted closer, fingers never lifting away. “And I pulled away because I didn’t wanna put any more pain where either of us can feel it. Alright?” 

Cas opened his mouth to say something else, but Dean pulled him close, stealing his words and his worries with a gentle kiss. He held the angel as he would anything precious, _everything_ precious because damnit, that’s what Cas was to him after all these years, and he drew his wings from where they rested under the sigils in his back; bracing Cas’s broken feathers in his own, with all the love he had to give. 

The former soldier shuddered, eyes welling shut at the sensation of something so comforting, so filled with _warmth_ sharing its light where for years all that he’d been able to feel was cold. The hollow shafts that were left clinging on stirred like echoes of a windchime long since burned away, like silver tines coming unburied from beneath a strength that called to them from beyond the veil. 

So long this part of him had been all but dead. 

But as he clung to the anchor within his reach, hands curling together amid this heavenly embrace and face desperate with the weight of relieved burdens, he realized; 

That in every way that mattered, he was _alive._

“I’m going to fix this, Cas,” Dean told him, the promise catching as it found the air. “I’m gonna get you your wings back, you hear me?” 

Castiel wanted to protest, to tell the seraph it was impossible. But in that moment, with his fingers clutching Dean’s as if he were holding on for dear life, he couldn’t bring himself to let go. “Alright,” he whispered back, allowing the sharp barb of hope to find him. 

They lay there, feathers entwined like the clutch of their fingers for the rest of the night. 

__And maybe, just maybe, by morning; Castiel could find it in himself to believe that this pain could one day leave him._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teasers for next time: we start to transition toward the next series of events in the story, and as one character starts to say goodbye, another, at the very end...decides to make a surprise entrance.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading! I really look forward to seeing what you guys thought of this one <3


	31. Blink (And You'll Miss It)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heyy, everybody! Happy February! Hope everybody's month has been off to a great start.
> 
> The music I'm pairing with this chapter is Only Angel by Harry Styles, and What A Time by Julia Michaels and Niall Horan.
> 
> Something I wanted to plug real quick before we get started is a new work by the lovely, genius Nepenthene, who debuted a psued by the glorious name of Lawboy69 (if you're laughing right now, so am I. We came up with that name together, in a fit of hilarity like so many others.) with a new work entitled [Modern Warfare](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29112834/chapters/71466033), which is already being heralded by many as the best Supernatural fic they've ever read. No summary could ever do its brilliance justice, but in short, it's 6k of Dean and Cas being happy and together with Jack and Sam and Eileen, facing off Karens in a sassy, hilarious gaslighting scheme based on the tumblr PTA-Destiel AU.
> 
> And, bonus? It features a companion slam poem written by none other than yours truly.
> 
> After this chapter, I encourage you to go give it a read. Open it up in a new tab and keep it ready so you don't forget ;)
> 
> Are you ready? Yes? Well here we go. Enjoy <3

The next morning, Dean and Cas walked down to the library; the seraph’s wings still folded over his back, and gently brushing Castiel’s where they resided in the spectral realm. 

Charlie looked up from where she, Sam and Akriti had been talking- Charlie seated across from Sam with her legs up on the table, and Akriti standing in front of the bookshelves.

“Well he-llo there, Worthington the third!” Charlie said happily, taking in the view of Dean’s wings in the three-quarter closed position that they favored when relaxed.

Sam gave a laugh at the reference; Warren Worthington III (or as he was otherwise known, the hero Angel) being one of the founding members of the X-Men, with a mutant ability that meant he had large organic wings not quite unlike Dean’s.

But when Akriti saw what lay behind Cas’s back, her breath caught, just so, leaving any comic-related humor she’d been about to impart forgotten. She met his nervous gaze and without a word, she walked forward and slowly wrapped him a hug; able to feel the extent of his vulnerability in ways she couldn’t describe.

“I’m going to fix it,” Dean told her as she pulled away, his voice low but no less in its conviction. “I’ll sit in the damn crypt for a year if that’s what it takes.”

“Is everything okay?” Sam asked, looking at the trio of angels, all standing close with varying levels of emotion visible in their faces. They looked up at him, as if unsure of what to say. “Dean?”

“My wings are no longer hidden, Sam,” Castiel explained, answering for himself. “They are beyond human sight, but Dean and Akriti are capable of seeing them. Their...response,” he said, turning his head to look into his other half’s eyes. “Is merely a kindness on my behalf.”

“What do you mean?” Charlie asked, bringing her legs down to the floor in a position more fitting of her concern.

“He’s been through a lot of crap over the years,” Dean said, taking over and putting it as simply as he could. “But we’re going to fix him.” _Because if I can fly, then I don’t want to do it without him._

Sam nodded, hand running over his chin as he processed. “Alright.

“...so what do we know about angel wings?”

-:-:-:-

Castiel spent the morning explaining what he knew, going into as much detail as he could while remaining in the bounds of what Sam and Charlie could understand. His wings themselves, where they were tucked almost delicately behind him, gesticulated as he spoke in a way that made Dean's heart warm; even if the gestures were too subtle to be what they normally might. _I'll fix this,_ the Winchester repeated in his mind more than once, his feathers subconsciously flaring every time. _We'll fix this._

Meanwhile, midway through the Q&A session that had seen everyone learning something new (even though more than half of the beings in the room were already winged), Cas let the information dump slow, beginning to feel lost in the information and the prospect of what they might _do_ with it.

“If you all agree, I believe a break is in order,” the angel said, aware that it was now nearing lunchtime.

“If you think so,” Dean agreed, leaning back as far as he could with his wings draped around the curve of his chair. He groaned. “God knows I could use a beer right about now.”

Akriti snorted. “We’ve already established that beer isn’t going to get you drunk.”

The younger seraph only snorted back. “It’s the principle of the thing,” he replied. “‘Round here, cloudy afternoons are the same thing as nights. Never a no to alcohol.”

Charlie leaned over and deftly elbowed him, allegedly on Sam’s behalf.

“...actually,” Cas spoke up, “if someone would like to confirm this, I believe that the weather outside is currently quite amiable.” He glanced to his right, where Dean sat almost protectively within reach. “Perhaps you might show Charlie your new skill with flight, as you promised her yesterday?”

Dean’s eyes widened slightly, and his wings shifted the way one might rock on the balls of their feet, only contributing to the hesitance in his eyes. “Cas-”

“My happiness for you will always exceed my grief, _ol hoath,”_ Castiel said, his gaze softening. “You needn’t refrain on my behalf.” He then looked away, smiling shyly. “Besides,” he added. “I rather like the sight of you in the air.”

Charlie beamed (and cooed over the couple, just a little bit before her surrogate brother’s feathers came down and cuffed her in the side of the head), and after a chorus of agreement, all of them filed out to the open field at the Bunker’s side; where Akriti gave Dean a wave, and then stood back with the others.

“Show’s all yours, baby bird,” she said. She then grinned. “Don’t make me wing my way up there to keep you from smacking into the ground.”

Dean gave her the finger, but did it with his longest primaries as a supplement (gifting a whole new feathered meaning to the concept of “flipping the bird”), and got a kick of laughter out of the small audience as he spread his sails of plumage and stretched, breathing in before looking up at the sky above. He really was a sight to behold, whether or not he knew it- grand sheaves producing ripples of power that almost seemed visible in the air surrounding him. _Here goes nothing,_ he thought. He closed his eyes, bent his knees and called on his grace, trying to bring forth a powerful burst of energy and _hold_ it, like a rubber band pulling taut over the back of his index finger.

It built, energy flowing over his skin in tandem with the breeze and the thrum of his being, and when he felt the glow reach his eyes, he _pushed;_ the world receding and expanding all at once as he broke the barrier of air above him, a single thrust of his wings propelling him upward into the sky. There were distant cheers and gasps beneath, and Dean felt weightless, the sunlight cutting over his form as he _rose,_ arcing over on his back. As the moment deepened, it was as though the world around him started to shift; blending, blurring, bleeding into a new, technicolor brand of reality. His fingers trailed in the aether that bubbled to his reach, and he breathed, taking in the slowing of his movement as he reached the apex of his height.

When his wings were like a cloud holding him up from beneath, stomach parallel to where the ground had once been under him, he felt something wrapping his mind, a line of focus casting out from inside him and knotting close as if to take him with it. He breathed out. Because he could, he let it guide him.

He moved.

And when he opened his eyes, he was standing on the earth, a handful of feet behind Sam and the others.

As if no time had passed at all.

“Dean,” Sam stammered, turning around at the sudden flicker in his vision to find himself stunned. “You were just up there, how-”

“Did you just _teleport?”_ Charlie gasped.

 _Oh my_ god.

Cas looked at the seraph, eyes wide with surprise, but the expression turned to a proud sort of happiness, a small smile rising over softened cheeks. “I believe he did,” the oldest of the gathering murmured in answer.

“I was-” Dean began, before cutting himself off, looking down at his hands. “One minute I’m catching air,” he told them, “and the next everything’s gone all...rainbowland, or something.” He looked up at where he’d been only moments before. “I have no idea how.”

“Rainbowland,” Akriti echoed. She snapped out and retracted her wings in the length of a second, and then reappeared at Dean’s side, a thoughtful look on her face. “Huh,” she said, now that she’d refreshed her sight of the experience Dean was describing. “I guess that is pretty accurate.”

“The spectral dimension?” Sam asked her, realizing what they were talking about. “Dean accessed it?”

“I think he did,” she replied, grinning.

“Damn,” Dean muttered, looking up and meeting Cas’s eyes. “Wasn’t expecting that one.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Charlie said, throwing her arms happily over the elder of her surrogate brothers’ shoulders. “Let’s celebrate!”

They walked back inside (after a failed attempt to convince Dean to try to teleport them in), and Akriti and Sam took up the helm of the kitchen, deciding without argument that sandwiches were in order. They ate quickly, the peppering of questions on the subject of what it had been like to fly that way leading to smiles all around, and a few offhanded punches back and forth between cheeky arms.

When Dean eventually glanced at the clock, however, which now put them at somewhere nearing the evening, his face sobered slightly, and he called the festivities to an end.

“Break’s over, guys,” he murmured, picking up the empty glasses and bottles and moving to put them away in the sink/recycling. “Let’s get back to it, and we can celebrate all we want, yeah?”

Charlie gave him a sympathetic glance, and then nodded, agreeing that it was time to continue fulfilling what they’d promised.

They spent the hours that followed brainstorming and theorizing and reading, and by the time the sun began to set, Charlie was in the archives bounding possibilities off of Cas, Sam and Dean were upstairs in the older Winchester's room discussing the logistics of anyone alive they could call for help; which left Akriti alone in the library, staring at her journals- the thin stack of books recording her experiences that she'd brought out for the boys to read.

“How has it only been a week since you found me, Dean Winchester?” she murmured to herself, tracing spirals into the wood of the table, next to initials carved with the tip of a knife.

If she reached out, she could feel the hazy edges of the other seraph’s grace, even the light that was Castiel’s, and she could feel Sam and Charlie’s souls- so _bright_ for any being, human or not. She still couldn’t believe it whenever she thought the words. _The_ other _seraph._

Because she wasn’t the only one.

She sighed, shifting in her chair, and almost wished for the comfort of her wings over her shoulders the way she had on the cold nights of the nineteenth century monsoons. Because there was so _much_ for her here, that she almost didn’t know what to do with it all. Getting to help Dean and Sam and Castiel, to just spend time and laugh with people who _knew_ this part of her and _knew_ about things she’d dealt with in her long life, to be able to finally share the things she’d had to find awe in all alone...it was like she had a new purpose. And as much as she loved quietly helping people with her gifts out in the world, _this_ purpose came with something to keep her grounded.

She felt a pang in her chest, wondering if this is what it would’ve been like with Timoné.

At the thought of the seraph that would’ve been, the air hummed, and she bit her lip; unable to ignore the pull had been building ever since she’d gotten in that Impala, despite everything that being here was giving her.

She had a decision to make, and only one choice to which she could say yes.

Slowly, she stood, and gathered up the journals she’d penned inside a box before balancing it under her arm, and began to head upstairs. She made her way to Dean’s room, and gently knocked against the doorframe, feeling energies still on the other side of the wall before going warm, and then moving to let her in.

“Hey, guys,” she greeted, stepping inside where the younger of the brothers was leaning against the desk to her left, while the elder was by the bed absently twirling a feather (one of his, no doubt, though his wings were currently tucked away) in one hand. “Things going okay up here?”

“Can’t think of a single damn angel besides the ones in this building that would be worth trying to call,” Dean said, leaning back and sighing. “Most of them hate us, pretty much, and they aren’t any better off then Cas is at this point. If they could find a fix, they’d have done it by now.”

“But wasn’t there that woman, uh, Lily Sunder, who studied angelic biology and enochian spells over the past century?” Sam said. “She’s not an angel, but she lived with one for almost a decade.”

Dean scoffed. “Only a few things wrong with your plan, there, Sam. One, in case you forgot, we met her because she was trying to _kill_ Cas, and any other angel who made her hit list. Two, even if we didn’t care that she’s basically still ready for a killing spree after running on nothing but revenge and soul-eating magic crap for a hundred years- which, I kind of think we do, we have no way of actually _finding_ her. So thanks,” he finished. “But I’ll pass.”

Sam huffed, but understood his brother’s reservations. “Fine,” he said. “She’s a last resort.”

A moment passed in thought, and then the younger hunter glanced over at Akriti, for the first time noticing the box she was carrying. “Hey,” he asked her. “What are those?”

She looked down at the box in question like she’d forgotten it was there, but then swallowed and slowly held it out. “The, uh, the journals I pulled out of the crypt,” she told him. “I brought them up here to give to you guys, officially.”

“What?” Sam asked. “But they’re-”

“They’re yours,” she interrupted. “If Dean takes them back into the crypt, then I guess they’ll be in the same place, but...they’re yours.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, Sam,” she said, smiling. “I’m sure.” She then promptingly shook the box, which was still in her hands. “Now _take_ it, or I’ll hide it somewhere in your room. Don’t worry about me, I’ve got copies if I want them.”

Sam laughed, and gently took it, holding it loosely beneath his chest. “Any reason why now?”

Akriti bit her lip, and something in her aura must’ve said it before she could find the words.

“It’s because she’s leaving,” Dean realized, no question in his statement, looking at her without resentment, but with a sense of resigned surprise. “Right?”

His voice had been unscatching, but even so, the corners of her lips sunk just a little. “Yeah,” she answered softly. “I am.”

“Is everything okay?” Sam asked. “Did something happen, or-?”

“No, no,” she answered quickly, shaking her head. “No it’s…” She paused, trying to find the words to explain. “It’s Timoné.”

Dean stilled. “What about her?”

“Dean...getting to be here, help you guys out, it’s been…” she broke off. “You know what it’s been,” she said simply, her eyes saying everything she didn’t know how to. “But I’ve given you almost everything that I can, and I feel it, I _feel_ it, in here, that I need to find answers for her death. Because there is _more_ to this than a vampire that showed up, and then tore her apart without any reason or motive.”

“‘Krithi,” Dean said, his voice quiet. “Let us help.” _You don’t have to do this alone._

“You guys have more than enough on your hands,” she told him. “Cas’s wings, your powers. Hunting. But I’ll call if I need anything, yeah?” She smiled. “Or maybe even if I don’t.”

“If you really gotta do this...then I’m gonna hold you to that,” Dean said. He stood up, and after a moment of hesitation, he wrapped his arms around her, almost able to feel her wings over his shoulders as she hugged him in return.

“Hey. I’ll be fine,” she told him. “Have a little faith.”

Dean nodded. A silent _‘I’ll try’._

"Just _...bolþ nazareth,_ alright?” he told her, pulling away. The same thing Cas had told him weeks before, when he’d been hurting too much to accept the sentiment. “Take care of yourself.”

Akriti’s hand rose to her chest, the spread of comfort those words invoked in her something she’d never known existed. “Right back at you, baby bird,” she murmured. She then looked over at Sam, who, as far as she was concerned, was just as much family as Dean was. “Get in here, you great, genius lug,” she said, waving him into her reach. “You keep an eye on your brother, alright? Don’t let those stray feathers pile up in his brain.”

Sam returned her embrace, his aura warm with mirth and agreement. “You got it,” he promised.

“Good.”

Once she pulled away, Akriti excused herself to go find Castiel and Charlie, and the Winchesters let her go, watching as she left.

“Can’t believe it’s only been a week,” Sam mused. “She feels more like...family, than some people we’ve known for years.”

“Yeah,” Dean breathed in answer. He looked down at the feather in his hand, thoughts tracing the soft fibers that ebbed in shape over the touch of his fingers. “Let’s get down to the library,” he then said, clearing his throat. “So we can, uh, see her out, whenever she heads out of here.”

Sam nodded, and the two of them made their way out into the hall, walking in relative silence.

Only a few yards away from the war room, however, Dean felt something that made him stop midstep.

 _“Shit._ Sam,” the older hunter hissed, clutching the side of his head. “The wards, they’re-” He broke off, cursing. This was wrong. He felt something familiar, twisted, hellish. Sulfur and smoke, on the heels of what was once a human soul. “Damnit, there’s a _demon.”_

But before either of them could say anything else, a figure appeared in front of them, crisp suit and trimmed scruff smugly neat the same as ever.

_How?_

“Hello, boys,” the king of hell said, taking in the room where he now stood. “If you’ll pardon my showing up like this…well.” He dusted off a shoulder, and allowed his gaze to sober.

“I’m afraid we need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teasers for next time:  
> Crowley wants something, and it's only another loop in the ever-winding thread. How did he get into the Bunker? Why is he back?  
> And how might it relate to past events?
> 
> I hope to see you there. I was so happy after the response to last chapter, and I really look forward to hearing your guys' thoughts and answering any questions you might have after this one.
> 
> Also, feel free to let me know if there were any bits of writing that stuck out to you. The description of Dean flying was probably some of the best fun I've had writing this story ;)


	32. If You'll Leave The Light On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! I know, it's barely been forty-eight hours since I posted, but since we last spoke, this little bonus chapter of sorts sprang up and circumvented the plans I'd had ready to go. I didn't want to make you wait any longer than already intended to figure out what Crowley wanted, but this demanded to be written, so in the meantime, enjoy this little scene. It takes place between this line in the last chapter: _"Once she pulled away, Akriti excused herself to go find Castiel and Charlie, and the Winchesters let her go, watching as she left."_ and when Crowley shows up in the Bunker.
> 
> I'm really curious how you guys will receive this one. I wasn't planning to write this at all, let alone the way I ultimately did, but as usual you have Nepenthene, MagicLia16 and Bloodfreak47 to blame. (You guys are the worst. Thanks for always bringing out the you in me).
> 
> The music I paired with this one is Light On by Maggie Rogers, Brandy by Looking Glass, and Run Boy Run by Woodkid.
> 
> Enjoy ;)

Charlie was sifting through titles on a shelf in the file room a few feet away from Castiel when a familiar tingle ran along the length of her arm, and she looked up to see Akriti walking through the door (her grace having subtly announced her presence).

“Hey, what’s shakin’?” Charlie asked, shifting her weight and brushing a lock of crimson behind her ear.

“Not much, I was just up with Sam and Dean,” Akriti replied, glancing over at Cas to let him know he was a part of this conversation as well. “They might have a few ideas, but nothing solid yet.”

The other angel nodded, looking down at the file in his hand. “I believe I might have something similar,” he told her. “There are texts from heaven that could, potentially hold answers, but they were lost, long ago. Theories about _un na,_ the _orth don.”_ Cas then remembered Charlie, and made to translate. _“‘That which you have within yourself,’_ it was called.”

“It’s like...something that would let _you_ heal your wings, right?” the red-haired woman asked. “Some class of angel programming that heaven never told you about?”

Cas nodded. “It’s nothing more than myth, given just how long it has been since the location of the records were known. But we, more than most, know well just how often myths turn out to be real.” His eyes drifted, and he bit his lip. “Perhaps it will be worth a chance.”

He met Akriti’s gaze of reassurance and comfort and smiled, before he realized she had something on her mind. “Is everything alright?” he asked, his brow dropping in concern.

Akriti was forced to hold in a heavy breath, new flutters of anxiousness beginning to coil in her stomach. “I’m...I’m heading out,” she told them, not beating around it. “Leaving. To- to get justice for Timoné.” Something in her expression must’ve fallen, because a piece of Charlie’s fell right along with it.

Akriti knew she was setting off on her own for a good reason. The only reason.

So why was it so hard to go?

“I understand. Know that you may always call on us for help,” Castiel murmured, giving her a nod. “I have every faith that you will achieve what you set out to do.”

“Thank you, Castiel,” she said in return, grateful. “I’ll keep an eye out for anything that might be able to help you.”

Cas smiled, and with a look at the two women, began to set the file in his hands aside. “I trust that Dean and I will be able to see you off when you’re ready?” he asked.

She nodded, the corner of her mouth turning up. “You will.”

The angel left the room, presumably in search of another record, and Akriti turned to the only one left in front of her, whose aura had risen along with a tick in her heartbeat. “Charlie?” she asked.

“You’re leaving, to solve the case,” Charlie said, sounding out the words as if trying to make sure she had it right. When Akriti tipped her chin in confirmation, she blew her thoughts out in a rush.

“What if I came with you?” 

The seraph blinked in surprise. “What if you...what?”

Charlie’s face flushed, but she didn’t shy away, despite the fluttering in her chest. “You know, to help you. Not that you _need_ it,” she amended, backpedaling slightly. “You definitely don’t need it, because of your awesome angel powers and everything, but you- you know, what if you wanted it? Me? To...come with you?”

When met with a moment of silence, she stopped, and sighed, resisting the urge to look up a spell to sink into the floor.

“Charlie,” Akriti said softly, almost as if in question. “Are you offering to leave the Bunker with me?”

“I’m trying to, yeah,” Charlie laughed, her face flushing further.

It only made her soul that much brighter, and the seraph couldn’t help the warmth that rose in her chest.

“I want to say yes,” Akriti answered, stepping closer. “But I don’t know what I’m walking into, Crimson.” She realized her slip, and suddenly the rich brown of her cheeks was hinted by a touch of red.

“Crimson?” Charlie repeated.

“Crimson, yeah, it’s what, um…” Akriti laughed, wondering where her handle on her demeanor had gone after all these years. She felt like she was seventeen again. “It’s what I call you in my head.”

The red-haired woman stifled a laugh, a shine beaming in her eyes. “Yeah? Is that a good thing?”

Akriti grinned. “When I think of crimson, I think...well. If you ask me, the nickname fits.” She took in the way Charlie’s aura - a radiant wavelength that was somewhere in crimson’s realm - ebbed and hummed, and it only made her smile stay. “Tell you what,” she said, glancing down at the foot of space left between them. “I’ll make you a deal.”

Charlie shifted her weight, loosely crossing her arms. “Okay, I’m listening.”

“If we both head out at once...well, simply put, these boys aren’t going to know what to do with themselves.” She huffed a laugh. “I don’t think we should leave them without the majority of their common sense. So how about I get a headstart, and then, once they’ve settled into a groove, figured things out just a little better…” she trailed off, but didn’t let the sentiment hang for long. “You come join me?”

Charlie beamed, without missing a beat. “Sounds like a deal.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had a road buddy,” the seraph remarked, brushing some of her dark hair behind her ears. “I’m glad you offered.”

“Hey, every Thelma needs her Louise, right?” Charlie joked. She then winced. “Not that we’re- Thelma and Louise, just-”

Akriti smiled. “I know.”

She opened her mouth to say more, when something breached her senses, and grace reflexively echoed behind her eyes in attention.

“Hey, what is it?” Charlie asked, sensing the sudden shift. 

“There’s-” The seraph turned, something in her gaze freezing and hardening all at once. “Stay here, Charlie.” She began to move for the door, when a hand caught her wrist, holding her just tight enough to make her stay.

“Hey,” the red-haired woman told her, looking into her face. “Talk to me.”

“It’s-” Akriti shook her head, the need to _go,_ to face what was next rising in a way she hadn’t felt so strongly in decades. “The Bunker perimeter’s been breached.” Her expression softened for a moment, just enough. “Will you stay here, Crimson? Please?” _Where it’s safe?_

_Where I know you’ll get to come with me once whatever this is is over?_

Charlie bit her lip. “Okay,” she agreed. “ Just...be careful, okay?”

There was a breath where neither of them said anything.

“Yeah,” Akriti murmured. “I promise.”

And with a last echo of warmth pulsing against Charlie’s fingers, she was gone, soundless in her strides out the door.

Charlie stood alone.

“...I guess I’ll just wait here, then,” she said to herself.

_I wonder when I’ll see her again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really look forward to your guys' comments on this one :)
> 
> Until next time, when we _really_ see what Crowley wants (and what happens when Akriti goes up to face him) <3


	33. A Tower Of Cards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damn. Looks like I've now posted three chapters in six days. Let me know if you guys are enjoying all the content- it's hilarious how everything else in life making me busier gets me to double down on posting too. I sort of doubt I'll post a fourth in eight days or something insane like that, but you never know what'll happen.
> 
> Anyway.  
>  _Finally,_ after the sudden pop-up of the last chapter, we get to find out what the hell Crowley has up his sleeve, and ahh, I can't wait to see what you guys think.
> 
> The music I'm pairing with this chapter is Consequences by Camila Cabello, and Trouble In Town by Coldplay.
> 
> Without further ado; enjoy ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also? Wow. We broke 80k. (Right now the word count is sitting at exactly 83000, and let me tell you, it is satisfying).
> 
> Couldn't have gotten here without you guys <3

_“Crowley?”_ Dean asked. “What the hell are doing here?”

“How did you even _get_ in here?” Sam echoed, body tensing behind his brother as if ready for things to get messy.

“Why, the way I always travel, of course,” Crowley answered, shifting once on his toes. He then looked at Dean. “We don’t _all_ require the annoyance of feathers caught in our laundry to fly, you know.”

“This place is _warded,_ jackass,” the seraph growled. “Try again.”

 _Cas,_ he thought, casting his grace out through the Bunker’s walls and trying to convey a sense of urgency. _Get down here. I need you._

“Ah, yes, the wards,” the demon said, squinting slightly as he felt the angelic power rising in the air around him. “To tell you the truth, I normally wouldn’t have tried any other way but the door, for just that very reason. This quaint little base of operations is very much impenetrable- and of course, I know how you boys feel about your privacy.”

“Then what?” Dean demanded. He sensed Cas’s energies bounding over the walls, could tell that the angel had all but flown from the file room when his other half had called.

Crowley gave the brothers a knowing look as Castiel arrived in the room, and then whistled as his eyes widened, taking in the sight of the trenchcoated figure’s no-longer bound wings flaring in the spectral plane. “Well well _well,_ Castiel,” he said appraisingly. “Your years on heaven’s most wanted list haven’t done you many favors, have they?”

“Certainly fewer favors than your efforts to negotiate in hell have done you,” Castiel replied scathingly. “Now answer the question you were asked.”

Crowley tutted, but held his hands up in peace. “It’s simple,” he said. _“Normally,_ your bunker _is_ impenetrable. However, with an unruly, flannel-wearing fledgling having made that same bunker his nest? Imagine my surprise when I tested your warding, and found far less resistance than expected in working shape.” He then gave a short wave, as if to bow over the bend of his hand. “And just like that, voila,” he finished. “Here I am.”

Dean glared at the hellspawn in front of him, but his gaze lowered to a worried glance when it fell Cas’s way, silently asking if what Crowley said was true.

Cas shook his head. _Not your fault._ “I powered down a few measures of the Bunker’s warding weeks ago, Dean,” he explained quietly, a wince of regret in his face. “There was nothing that was intended to target...you, specifically, but after the impact that the last sigil had on you, and the slow rate at which your grace was healing afterward…” He trailed off, aware of just what listening ears were in the room. 

Dean understood, a pang rising in his chest at the sentiment.

“A before and _after?_ A _sigil?_ My my, flying squirrel,” Crowley remarked. “Trouble for you, already?” He shook his head, clucking his tongue as if in lamentation. “One would think the power of an archangel could triumph over your stubborn streak of Winchester luck.”

Dean opened his mouth to give an indignant reply (likely something to the effect of _“shove it, dickbag,”)_ when he felt something, and made his focus switch gears. He let his senses drift, just enough, and then realized that it was the building’s third source of grace slowly approaching, energies held close and high as if ready to strike and subdue.

And above all, to deliver a smiting.

 _“Sam,”_ Dean hissed, jerking his head toward the shelves of the library behind them. The gesture was clear in its meaning. _Angel incoming._

_And she is ready to fight a bitch._

“Oh, uh-” Sam cleared his throat, obliging once he understood. “Akriti,” he called out. There was a moment of silence as the words rang off the arcing walls. “We’re fine,” he continued. “You can stand down.”

Crowley’s eyes widened, and once the woman herself stepped out, the demon was only further struck wordless.

 _“Akriti?”_ he asked.

“Crowley,” she greeted, crossing her arms, her tone even and closed-off. Her grace remained precisely where it was, readily able to pin him against the wall, and she didn't make an effort to conceal it.

“My god, how- how _long_ has it been?” the demon questioned, somehow still in shock, despite the reality that few people had ever truly seen him that way. “How on earth did you end up here?”

"Wait, hang on,” Dean interjected, holding up a hand. He scoffed, as if in disbelief. "You two _know_ each other?"

“A rave in Germany, the 60s,” Akriti said, gaze unmoving. “He was hanging around the bar, making offers. Signing souls. I pegged him, figured I ought to get him to leave, and made him an offer of my own. He thought he could smooth-talk me right back with a drink and a sales pitch.” She leaned forward on the balls of her feet, putting so much subtle menace into that single gesture that Dean wasn’t sure he’d ever met anyone more intimidating. “At the end of it, I told him after that that if I ever saw his face again, I’d be washing his blood off my fists.”

Crowley went pale, heels shifting as if he was trying to move away only to find an invisible wall at his back. “Akriti, that was a mistake,” he said, beads of nervousness- but also defiance, rising to his smoky aura. “That- you have to understand, it wasn’t-”

“Wrong.” Akriti parted her stance, her eyes cooly flaring, and the demon in front of her nearly flinched. “But I don’t care about, nor have the time to listen to apologies for things that you screwed up years ago. You pissed off the wrong angel, Crowley. And there are two other angels in this room, both of whom are _also_ pissed off. So if you’re here for something, then talk. Before I have to listen to another one of your bullshit excuses.”

The salesman glanced at Sam, and then Castiel as if asking for support, before sighing when he found that there was none. “Fine, then. I’ve a...matter, of sorts, on which I was hoping to seek the Winchesters’ help.” His eyes shifted over the four of them, somewhat awkwardly. “Is now a...bad time?”

Akriti opened her mouth to respond, when Dean tugged her elbow, tipping his head toward the next room. “Cas, go check on Charlie,” he said over his shoulder. “Let her know why you and ‘Krithi ran out like you did. Just give the two of us a minute.” Akriti made as if to protest, but met his gaze and conceded, following him out of the demon’s eye/earshot.

“Dean,” she said, as soon as they were alone. “Why are you hearing this out?”

“Look,” the hunter began, holding up his hands. “We’ve had our fair share of crap with Crowley in the past, as in crap that Sam and I don’t touch with a ten-foot pole. And clearly, that jackass rubbed you the wrong way somewhere down the line too, which I’m definitely planning to punch his face in over later. But whenever Crowley has a problem that he’s brave enough to bring to us, it’s generally something that he knows is gonna turn into our problem too.” He loosely crossed his arms. “So it’s not a deal. It’s not an understanding. It’s just...taking care of things, before they come knocking down our door.”

Akriti breathed, taking in his logic and exhaling despite her reservations. “Fine,” she conceded. “But-”

“Krithi.” Dean cut her off, knowing what was coming next. “You don’t have to stay for this. We’ve got it covered.” His face softened, grace subconsciously brushing over the tense, unrelaxed edges of hers. “Go. Do Timoné justice, like she deserved.”

Akriti could only smile back, shaking her head slightly. “Okay. I will." She looked down at her hands before meeting Dean's eyes, a part of her still finding awe in the piece of the universe that they both shared. "Thank you for following those stars, baby bird,” she murmured. “Hit me up in the crypt any time you want, alright? I’ll start clearing out space for you, let it be our room instead of mine.”

Dean laughed. “Sounds good,” he told her. “Now come on,” he said, waving a hand at her. “Skedaddle. I’m sure you’re dying to stretch.”

She winked.

“Oh, only a little.”

And then with a shift in space and a rustling of feathers, Akriti was gone, propelled away into the aether.

Dean trailed his fingers through the lingering grace in the air she’d left behind, and looked around at the empty space; before heading back out into the war room where Sam, Crowley, Castiel, and now Charlie were all waiting.

“Hey, where did Akriti go?” the red-haired hunter asked, still catching up to what she'd missed while she was down in the file room. “Right before she ran up here, she told me about how she was leaving, but she was still just...here, right?”

“She wanted to stay to help deal with whatever crap is about to hit the fan,” Dean said, fixing the demon with a hard stare out of the corner of his eye. “But I told her she should go. More important things to do.”

“So it’s time to talk, Crowley,” Sam spoke, crossing his arms. “The wards are still down, but Dean is faster than you.” The younger hunter’s eyes were stony, but they said it all. _No quick exit._

The salesman held up his hands, his composure mostly recovered after all the intimidation he’d just been on the receiving end of. “Fine,” he said. “The short version, shall I?” He continued, when he received no answer. “There is a group of demons who have taken a certain...artifact, from my possession, an artifact of reasonable power. It would appear that they have been recruiting numbers beneath my notice, subtly converging in a town on the coast of Oregon.”

“Hang on,” Charlie spoke up, expression shifting in realization. “Are you talking about _Newport?”_

“Full marks to the hunter in red,” Crowley answered, before raising an eyebrow in surprise. “You’re familiar with this little uprising?”

“I- I was just on a case in Newport,” Charlie stammered, looking up at Sam and Dean. “The missing item cases, ingredients for spells reported stolen with traces of sulfur left behind. I was searching for omens, signs of possession, when out of nowhere I was attacked by a few demons. It’s why I came out here. To tell you guys about it, only I sort of...forgot.” She finished somewhat sheepishly, but saw the looks she was receiving, and then straightened where she stood. “Hey,” she said, in self-defense. “I walked in, and the first thing I saw was Dean, with _wings._ Sue me if that took priority.”

Dean sighed, but he understood.

“Well then,” Crowley continued. “Now that we’ve found ourselves on the same page, I believe it to be in all our best interests if this valuable is returned to its rightful owner, that being removed from the hands that stole it.”

“If this is merely a group of demons,” Cas said, eyes narrowing, “then why do you need our help?”

“Yeah,” Sam followed up. “Why don’t you just zap yourself in there, steal it back?”

“It’s heavily guarded, Moose,” the demon told him, rolling his eyes. “They’ve warded it against me. I can only get as far as the street across the building.”

“So what you want is for _us_ to go ‘barging’ in there?” Cas asked.

“Not quite. Their base of operation is also warded against angels,” the demon informed them. “All known classes of them, from cherubs to Michael and Lucifer himself.” He turned back to Sam. “As large as your golem-like physique may be, I somehow doubt you’d last long on your own.”

“Then what the hell are you here for?” Dean growled.

“Simple.” Crowley reached into his coat, and pulled out a thin book from within his pocket. “You, Winged Winchester, cannot walk past those wards on your own. But piloting someone else's body?” He paused, handing the volume over. “You'll get inside just fine.”

Dean froze.

“Open that book to the first page,” the demon told him, “and read out the title for the class.”

Dean turned it over, opening the blank cover to the inside as his heart stuttered, beat by beat. “The mechanics of _...seraphim possession?”_ he said aloud, before his head snapped upward, blood going cold in shock. “Crowley, what the hell?” He had to restrain his grace from slamming the salesman against the wall to punctuate his demand, right then and there, but Castiel’s energies at his side managed to keep him still.

“It was Akriti's, way back when,” Crowley told him, tone light, as if they were only discussing a brew of coffee. “I made a copy of it. Held onto it.” He shrugged. “Something told me it would come of use.”

“Crowley…” Sam said, sniffing slightly. “We never told you Dean was a seraphim. You assumed that on your own. So what makes you so sure this book is useful, if it’s even real?”

“Dean,” the demon replied, addressing the angel in question. “Tell me, since I’m sure you can. Is the text I just handed you real?”

Dean, without taking his eyes off of Crowley, extended his senses to the space in front of him, and felt the faint hum behind the pages that told him just what this truly was a copy of. He didn’t want it to be true, damnit, but he could feel the remnants of Akriti’s grace, trace the outlines of her handwriting like it was his own. "...it's legit," he ground out finally, turning it over in his hands. "This was 'Krithi's, all right." He glared. "However the hell he got his hands on it."

"Akriti told you just now that I had once made her an offer of partnership," hell’s king recounted.

"Yeah, so?" the hunter snapped.

"What she neglected to mention, was that prior to our...unfortunate, falling out, she accepted it."

The air was silent, first broken by Dean's scoff (though very nearly by his fist). "There's no way. _Krithi,_ take a deal from a…" He took a moment, the corner of his mouth lifting when the perfect words came to him. _"Unmal un vehnaun drax?"_

_From a slimy thing made of dust?_

Castiel startled, wings twitching as he coughed into one hand, while Crowley merely glared; not dignifying that insult with a retort. "She was one hundred years old at the time, and had spent nearly all those years alone," he reasoned instead. "Wouldn't _you_ accept the offer of a listening ear, had you been in her position?" Dean didn't respond, and so the demon continued. "In any case, due to that fact, I knew her, well enough. Which meant that when you revealed yourself at my meeting and Castiel here explained the situation a little further, it was suddenly quite obvious to me what you were."

Dean looked down at the book in his hand, only counting a few dozen pages tied into the spine. "What the hell do you want me to do with this, Crowley?" he spoke, his voice low.

"I want you to read it. And once you have, I want you to call me, and tell me if you're willing to do your part in keeping a group of demons from potentially disastrous amounts of power. On the off chance that that's not motivating enough for you, however...I'll remind you that I know your little secret, and that you now owe me for so generously keeping it hush-hush."

Dean glared, but said nothing.

Crowley, satisfied with his conclusion, glanced at Sam, then Charlie, then lastly Castiel. He squinted for a moment, at just how close the normally trenchcoated (but currently only dress-shirted) angel stood to the elder of the Winchesters, and something in his mind then deigned to click. "My my, I see congratulations are now in order," he remarked, his gaze evening out. "It would appear a certain pair of lovebirds have finally decided to flock."

Dean gaped, mouth open only to sputter, and within that moment Crowley successfully disappeared; plunging away into the inky depths of the air behind him without another word, as soon as the most powerful being in the room was that much less likely to pin him down.

Dean stared into the wall, unsure of whether to punch something, or run after the demon as fast as he could.

“Dean,” Sam said, stepping closer so he was only a foot from his brother’s side. “Are you okay?”

“...I can’t do this,” the seraph muttered, eyes closing. “This, this stupid-” He broke off, and flattened the book down on the war room table, his hands wringing at the side of his head. “Possession, Sam,” he gritted. “This damn book, that, oh- was Akriti’s, apparently, back when she was drinking buddies with _Crowley-_ just so happens to be all about taking over people’s _bodies.”_ He felt the urge to pace, his temper rising with every word. “So, no, Sam, I’m _not_ okay. What I need is for Crowley to come back so I can shove an angel blade up his ass, and something strong enough to make me forget that a frickin angel I trusted, _without question, conned_ me, hook line and sinker.”

“Hey. You weren’t conned. Akriti only left like ten minutes ago, right?” Charlie said, loosely crossing her arms. “So just give her a call, and let her explain. We can talk about this, reason this out.”

“There is no _this,_ Charlie!” Dean snapped, energy rising under his heating skin. “The _second,_ the _second_ I’m getting used to all this crap, the second it feels like I’ve got new _family_ even though I’ve only known her for a week and a half and _powers_ that aren’t evil, and that everything is all just sunshine and rainbows, shit hit the goddamn fan, like it _always_ does!”

“You’re not-”

“You know, I’ve accepted that I’m not _human._ I’ve pretty much accepted that I’m a freakin _seraph,_ with angel grace and half a dozen feathered butcher knives stickin’ out of my back. But _that?_ Ditching this meatsuit for another, like a _demon,_ like it’s switching out a pair of boots after a trek in the woods?” His breathing gained speed, but when the lights above him flickered, he looked up, and his face fell in realization. “I thought I had it,” he whispered. _I thought I knew what the hell I was._

Castiel reached out to ground him, to comfort him, but Dean’s eyes began to give off a telltale glow; grace rising, as he summoned his wings to propel him away.

_“Dean!”_

By the time the word could ring, the seraph was gone, only the sound of rustling feathers left behind.

The room went silent.

No one knew what to do next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hhh...  
> I have no excuses for doing this.
> 
> Teasers for next time:  
> Dean's shaken, and forced to process an entirely new curveball, and meanwhile the rest of the team cracks open that text and gives it a read. What they find...isn't what they were expecting.
> 
> Thank you guys so much for reading. I can't wait to read your comments! Feel free to yell at me, if at all you'd like to. I deserve it after this one.


	34. In Your Blood (This Piece Of You)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heyy, everybody! First time in what feels like forever that I haven't been on a posting spree. Imagine that, I actually waited a normal amount of time between uploading chapters. Crazy.
> 
> The music I'm pairing with this one is Sign Of The Times by Harry Styles, In My Blood by Shawn Mendes, and Stole Your Car by Charlotte Lawrence.
> 
> I can't think of anything else I particularly wanted to say, but I hope you guys enjoy this one. This has one of my favorite exchanges between Dean and Cas in it (though I have so many favorites, given how long this story's gotten).
> 
> I'll see you at the end notes ;)

Dean stumbled as he exited the spectral realm, falling nearly a full foot before catching himself on the cement surface of the Bunker’s roof. _Huh,_ he thought. He hadn’t remembered deciding to come up here.

Like so many things this night, it had just happened, like a tide that wrapped around his ankles and swept forth his every step.

He shivered in the cold, his grace subtly exuding heat in an effort to make him warm. His wings folded over his shoulders like a cloak made of the night sky above his head, and he exhaled, trying to keep his mind from spinning any further than it had already gone.

In the building below him, Sam, Charlie and Castiel had yet to move, just barely processing the evening’s events themselves.

“We have to find him,” the red-haired hunter spoke up first, breaking the fragile silence. “He’s not okay right now.”

“I believe he flew to the roof,” Cas murmured, reaching out just enough to feel Dean’s grace stirring, coiling, retreating into the throes of its swirling borders. “He is...ill at ease. Shaken.”

“He’s barely found his footing in all this,” Sam said. “The thought of possessing human beings, it was a curveball. He’s questioning himself, like he was before.”

Charlie looked over at the book that had been left on the table, and picked it up, looking inside to the pages etched with Akriti’s handwriting. “He also thinks Akriti lied to him,” she put in. “You guys decided to trust her pretty fast, right?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, running a hand over his lower lip. “We all did, but Dean was the one who made the call. He took the chance. Or at least, that’s how he’ll see it.”

“May I see that?” Cas asked, gesturing gently at the volume in Charlie’s hands. She handed it to him, and he turned to the first page, beginning to read its contents.

 _So...alright,_ Akriti had written.

_It would appear I have figured out how possession by a thing like me works._

_If anyone is reading this, think of it kind of like remote piloting. Only a little bit of grace needs to enter the vessel in question, so the vessel’s strength isn’t as much of a limiting factor as it is for other angels (because in the case of typical angels, the vessel needs to house nearly all their grace). It does feel the same, though; it’s a little removed, but depending on how much grace the seraph slips into the body, it’ll feel incredibly immersive, that they are inside another body. The vessel’s mind is open in at least partial capacity to them, but it can be left alone. Seraphim_ do need permission _to enter a human body with the intent to control it._

“Wow. Akriti has detailed nearly everything,” Castiel breathed, his wings in the spectral realm parting open in surprise. “Look.”

_To find a vessel, the first step is casting out their energies into the surrounding area; (it’s more difficult to search in a larger radius/at a greater distance away, but it can be done), and they can then sense a person’s soul’s receptiveness to their grace. When they find someone compatible, they can reach out to them in a whisper, sort of a presence of their power that the target can hear._

_If permission is granted, that whisper (which, until then, was effectively energy invisible to the naked eye), will leave the entity to which it belongs and take on solidity in the form of light, and enter the mouth in a way similar to how it appears when other forms of angel are entering and exiting vessels of their own._

_(I’ve only heard about other angels doing this once or twice, and only done it myself once now, but it seems pretty similar)._

_Additionally, seraphim can use this remote piloting method to slip around angelic warding, as angelic wards typically activate in the presence of a larger amount of grace (so that combatants who fought with angels and might bear spectral echoes of grace over any wounds inflicted with an angel blade/due to any occurrences of smiting will not trigger the sigils accidentally), and within a seraph’s vessel, the amount typically present and the way that it is composed can slip by._

_The seraph’s original body, while the possession is in effect, will just be standing or sitting still with its eyes closed, facilitating the connection, though facial expressions will change very slightly here and there. If something snaps the body back to awareness (i.e. a sudden surge of danger, or someone very urgently trying to get the seraph’s attention) the eyes fly open, awareness returned, and the grace diffuses from the vessel. Unless inhabited or connected to at many instances over a period of time, the vessel will...probably, not exhibit any significant lingering connection to the seraphim they allowed inside them._

_When working through a vessel, the extent of the angelic abilities a seraphim can access depends on how much of their grace they allow inside. Just the barest amount, and it’s almost none. Just a mental link with the vessel and control of movement, with slightly enhanced senses and a touch of additional physical durability. The vessel will still bleed if injured and still sustain bodily damages. Increases in the amount of grace the vessel contains can lead to increased capacity for healing, (as well as the ability to heal others), further-heightened senses and perception, measures of angelic strength, and if enough is pushed inside (that being, in part, dependent on whether or not the vessel can handle it), smiting, and displaying the shadows of one’s wings._

There was more, a few scrawled footnotes and notes in the margins, but that appeared to be the bulk of her findings.

The room was hushed, all three of them slowly taking it all in.

“Dean needs to see this,” Sam said, his voice quiet as he processed everything he’d just read. “This- it’s _not_ like demon possession. He needs permission. The person isn’t affected. Hell, it’s like Akriti says in here. It’s basically...angelic remote piloting.”

Charlie looked up at Cas, silently casting her vote on who should be the one to deliver this information.

Cas caught her look, and understood what it said.

“I can speak to him,” he obliged. “I will do what I can.”

With a nod of good luck from Sam, the angel made his way up the stairs, swallowing the sense of worry in his throat. He wondered in part as he walked if Dean was alright after having attempted teleportation for only his second time. He hoped that this wasn’t all too much, that this wouldn’t set the seraph back on the path to rejecting these new parts of him.

That path had been heartbreaking, and Cas didn't know if he had what it took to get Dean off of it again.

When he reached the door to the roof, he took a breath, and gently knocked, asking for permission to step through.

There was no answer, but Cas turned the handle anyway.

He walked forward, and caught sight of Dean sitting at the roof’s edge, his wings tightly wrapped around him. Cas slowly sat down next to him, and leaned to the side until his head was gently pressed against the layer of feathers that draped over the Winchester's shoulder. He said nothing, simply waiting until his other half was ready.

He'd always wait for that, if he needed to. 

"What Crowley wants me to do," Dean spoke eventually, his voice distant under the light of the stars above them. "I can't."

"Dean…" Castiel began gently. "Do you think any less of me for taking a vessel? For possessing the form of a human being, when in my true state, that is not what I am?"

Dean turned to meet his gaze, thrown off guard. "Cas, you-" He looked away, composing his thoughts. "No," he answered finally. "No. Your situation is different. Jimmy isn't in there. That body is _yours._ You're an angel right now, you’re...basically just a bunch of light and wavelengths stuffed inside a bag of bones, but you've lived as a human, _in those bones,_ with nothing else."

"But when I first took this form?" the angel pressed gently. “When it was Jimmy Novak’s body?”

Dean's breathing quieted, and he looked away. "I don't blame you for things you did when the god squad was the one yankin' your chain, Cas,” he said. “But that's the _point._ If I did this now, if I just...destroyed any sense of me being this person, with this name, this body, to _possess_ some poor schmuck who lets me in despite the fact that I know it isn’t right…" His wings pressed closer, as if they could shield him from his grappling thoughts. "How much Dean Winchester is gonna be left after something like that?"

 _“Dean,”_ Cas said, reaching forward and clasping the seraph’s hand in his own. “Look at me.” His face was gentle, but impassioned with a quiet fire. “You will _always_ be you. You will always be the person I love, the person who does what is _right,_ even if- temporarily, your consciousness resides behind another face.”

Dean hesitantly met his gaze, almost as if he was nervous. “You promise?” he whispered.

“I promise.”

Dean sighed, looking away, but then nodded- the tension in his wings releasing, just a little.

“We should return downstairs,” Cas murmured. “It’s gotten late, but Sam and Charlie are still waiting.”

“Waiting?” Dean repeated.

Cas’s brow dipped in thought. “You will understand once you read for yourself,” he said.

Before Dean could respond, the other angel took his hands, holding them firm. _Trust me,_ the gesture said. _You have nothing to fear._

The two of them left the roof, and walked down the stairs into the war room, where Sam and Charlie immediately looked up in relief once they caught sight of the familiar wings retreating into their owner’s back.

 _You good, Dean?_ Sam’s searching gaze asked, meeting his brother’s eyes.

The older Winchester nodded. He looked at Charlie, and his lips thinned as if in apology, but she waved him off before he could open his mouth. “You’re fine,” she told him, smiling in understanding. “You earned a little freakout.” She then looked at Cas, arms loosening from where they’d been crossed over her chest. “So…?”

“Dean,” Cas said, taking his cue to proceed with what needed to happen next. “We read the text.”

The seraph stilled, just a little, but he waited for Cas to continue.

“The way it described the variety of possession you are capable of achieving, it was...it was not what you may have feared.”

Dean’s eyes were edged in reproach, and so Sam picked up the book from the table, opening to the page he wanted. “Angelic remote-piloting, Dean,” the younger of the brothers said, reading the words off the page. “That’s basically the gist of it. You need permission, uh, it can be as simple as a mental link where you just control muscle movement to actually being _inside_ the vessel. It’s up to you. How much grace you want to put into it.” He pressed the cover shut. “It’s all in here.”

“How do we know it’s legit?” Dean said, his gaze wary as he reached out and took the thin text in his own hands.

“Well, you said it yourself,” Charlie answered. “Crowley didn’t write it. Akriti did.”

Dean looked away, his jaw subtly tensing.

“Hey,” Charlie said, her tone meaningful. “She didn’t lie to you. Stories about being partners in crime with Crowley? That’s probably not a proud point for her. We all have things we regret, right? Since when does that mean we can’t be good people?”

Dean’s breath was tight, but he forced it out, the exhale long and dragging. “I don’t know. I trusted her so damn fast, Charlie,” he told her. “And it was because of all this angel crap. There’s this _...stuff,_ in me, this _piece_ of me, and it’s in her, too. I put down all the cards on that, and I guess it just-” He broke off, breathing deeply once again. “I don’t know. It was like all of a sudden I was doubting both of those things again.”

He looked down at the pages in his hand, the subtle hum of intent woven into the writing that even Crowley’s copying had managed to capture. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll...I’ll think about this.” He shook his head. “Maybe see if ‘Krithi’s crashing in the crypt tonight.”

“Sounds great,” Sam replied. The edges of the words began to bleed into a yawn, and he covered his mouth, trying to shove it down. “I think I might hit the hay.” He then muttered: “You know, I’d deal with grooming feathers if it meant I didn’t have to sleep.”

Dean laughed. “Sure, you say that now. But if you wake up tomorrow with an itchy back and out-of-whack angel senses? Don’t think I’m taking pity on you.”

Sam snorted, then smacked his brother in the shoulder before heading from the room, Charlie soon on his heels.

Dean ran his fingers over the textured cover, and then nodded at Cas, letting him know he could go too. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Cas,” he said.

A smile. “I shall see you then.”

-:-:-:-

In a hidden base somewhere west of the Atlantic, it had been days since the supernaturally literate lab techs shipped in to work had gotten any sleep, running tests on the soul they’d been given to every end they could think of in an effort to try to find and isolate the anomaly. There had supposedly been a conclusive understanding of which frequencies they were meant to suspend, but the shifting wavelengths of this woman’s soul, whoever she’d been, seemed to hide anything that was different about it; making the work restart after only hours, or sometimes mere minutes of data collection.

The situation was only made worse when their supervisors walked in- one having left the desk with which he was most associated to check in on their progress, this time accompanied by the operative who had acquired the soul in the first place.

“Well?” the larger of the two men asked, clearly not in a mood for foreplay. “Have you all been able to do anything with this past week and a half?”

“We’re still working,” one of the labrunners said, rubbing her forehead as she stared into a stream of data that was gathering on her computer. “You’ve asked us to crack the inner workings of a soul that doesn’t want to be read. We start over nearly a dozen times a day. Bartley passed out,” she said, motioning to a crumpled figure on the room’s left without shifting her gaze, “roughly four hours ago, and has yet to show signs of consciousness.”

“Priya,” the milder-tempered of the two men said, his face gentler than that of his colleague. “When can we expect a solution?”

Her eyes narrowed, taking a moment to think. “Give me seven days,” she answered. “And approve my request to treat the soul directly, to make it more amiable to observation. If we can freeze it, open its layers and flatten it out, we can read it.”

“You’re sure?”

She looked up, brow lowering. “Yes,” she told him, leaving no room for skepticism. “I am.”

The desk manager nodded. “Alright. Do what you need to. I expect to know as soon as you’ve found answers.”

As he left, walking back to his workstation, he filed a note away in his mind.

_Soon._

_It’s time to begin the next phase._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shudders  
> Our mysterious group is inching that much closer to their endgame, whatever it is.  
> Always gives me chills, writing these guys in. Do you guys ever get that feeling too?
> 
> Teasers for next time:  
> Dean's no longer actively afraid of the fact that he can possess someone, but now, what about the million-dollar question that's next up on the docket? Who, pray tell, is he going to possess?  
> And how well will he receive it when someone close to him makes a proposal that looks like his only option if he's going to go through with this demon case?
> 
> Look forward to some fluff/banter, and then me dipping my toes into describing angelic possession on the page.  
> Call out your guesses in the comments on who you think it's going to be, and leave any thoughts you had on today's update!  
> I'll see you lovelies there <3


	35. Not Constantinople Anymore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heyy, everybody! I'm shaking my head and laughing as I look over the calendar. Only waited two days in between post days, again. I couldn't help myself. This chapter and the next are two of my favorites in the whole story, and things only get better from here.
> 
> The music I'm pairing with this one is Istanbul (Not Constantinople) by They Might Be Giants and Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo (The Magic Song) by Perry Como. 
> 
> I hope you guys are having an epic Valentine's day! I've been showering my friends with compliments and really rubbing in my gratitude for them (more than usual! today's the day to go crazy), and posting early is part to make them (and you) smile just a little more. You're amazing. I hope your smile never fades <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note I'm adding in:  
> A bunch of the banter dialogue from the beginning of this one was the result of the lovely Nepenthene being an epic sounding board (as always) and enabling me to no end (as always seems to happen when it comes to this story). Seriously, half of our conversations when we get talking about To Be Angelic and seraph Dean are just postulating crack-filled bits of dialogue and hypotheticals, and in cases like this, a bunch of the ideas I get from those conversations make it into the story. All the words you see here are mine, but I wanted to give Nep a shoutout anyway.  
> Love you, buddy <3  
> Happy Palentine's day ;)

Dean had sat down in the library and read the text, pushing aside his apprehensions and making it through the couple dozen pages almost to the end before he was overtaken by a yawn, and realized that his eyelids had been sagging for nearly ten minutes. It must have been the flying, he realized, remembering the move he'd pulled in the heat of the moment where he'd just wanted to get away, and ended up winging himself up to the roof. He winced.

That probably hadn’t been a great idea.

He groaned, and his grace began to hum like an ache in protest, like a sore muscle beneath his skin now that the fatigue had caught up to him. He moved to get up, maybe retire to his room or even the crypt, but by the time he could put his hands down on the table, his vision went black.

He was out like a light.

-:-:-:-

Sam felt refreshed after a good night’s sleep, and walked down the hall, noticing that Dean’s room was empty when he passed. He glanced toward Cas’s, whose door was also open, but Castiel himself was the only one inside, sitting and reading a book (a biography of Jimmy Page, it looked like) before he noticed Sam, and waved hello.

“Hey, uh- ‘morning, Cas,'' Sam began, walking closer and stopping just outside the doorframe. “Do you know where Dean is?”

Cas frowned slightly. “Is he not in his room?”

“No, it’s empty. I thought he might’ve...I don’t know, spent the night with you, or something.”

The angel shook his head. He stood up, evidently having slipped his suit jacket over his shirt at some point in the night, and joined Sam in the hall, turning his head back and forth before reaching out for Dean’s grace in an effort to find out where he was. 

“I believe he’s in the library,” Cas said, gesturing with a hand.

The two of them walked down, and once they entered the library, they found the figure they’d been wondering about slumped in a chair- his head folded into an arm like it’d fallen there, and hadn’t moved throughout the night.

“Hey, Dean?” Sam said, moving closer and gently shaking his brother’s shoulder. When he received no response, he glanced up at Cas, a look of question on his face. “Since when does he still get knocked out like this?” the younger brother asked. “Is he okay?”

“His grace...it appears fatigued,” Cas replied. He thought for a moment, and then leaned down and placed a hand over Dean’s back, reaching out to the runes beneath the fabric and letting the pulse of his energies open up into them. _“Ol hoath,”_ he whispered, his breath brushing over the seraph’s ear. “Wake up.”

It took a few moments, but once they passed, Dean’s neck snapped upright- grace briefly shining in his eyes before it settled, and he took in his surroundings. “What the…” he murmured, trailing off when he looked up to find Cas just above his shoulder, and let an easy smile rise to his face. “Hey, beautiful.”

Sam cleared his throat, making sure his brother knew who else was in the room. “Dude,” he said. “Have you been here all night? You were basically unconscious.”

Dean groaned, taking a second to stretch out his arms. “Yeah. Angel coma, pretty much," he recounted once the memories came back to him. "Hit me out of nowhere.”

 _“Angel coma?”_ the younger Winchester repeated.

“What? Sue me, flying places isn’t easy,” Dean answered.

“You don’t get to complain about being able to fly,” Charlie’s voice came from over on the opposite wall, where she stood casually with half a piece of toast in one hand and a pop tart package in the other. "That's like complaining about scoring VIP comic con tickets. Or in other words, to quote The Princess Bride: _inconceivable."_

“Charlie?” Sam asked. He shook his head. “How long have you been in here?”

“I found Dean passed out over there, I went to the kitchen, came back, and then Cas worked his romantic magic and woke Dean up.” She took a bite out of her breakfast, clearly satisfied with that rehash of events.

Dean made a noise that sounded like a scoff. _“Romantic magic?_ Come on. This isn’t a crappy disney sequel. He just...” Dean trailed off, actually realizing he wasn’t sure. “I don’t know. But whatever he did, it wasn’t that.”

Charlie scoffed right back, her tone one of abject disappointment. "You guys seriously have no idea what a cute couple you are,” she told him. “Akriti says you're sappy as a pair of pine trees, but honestly, I'm here for it. it feels like I've spent a lifetime waiting for this ship to go canon."

Sam snorted. “Sappy’s right.”

“Shut up,” the older brother snapped defensively, despite how his ears were going red around the tips. “Why the hell were you guys talking about me and Cas anyway?”

“Dean, the two of us found you about half a second from feeding Cas a strawberry the other day,” Sam said. “You’re making it really hard for us not to talk about you.”

Dean muttered something almost inaudible. Almost. “Makin’ me sound like a freakin’ _girl.”_

"Oh, I’m sorry,” Charlie spoke up, waving her toast condescendingly. “We meant to talk about how you’re _‘very manly, and stoically in love with your boyfriend’,_ the same boyfriend who just so happened to wake you up from a literal _coma_ with what was one kiss away from a sleeping beauty-themed LARP sesh."

Dean’s jaw dropped nearly an inch in a sputter that never came, his face the very picture of mortified.

"Hmm…" Cas hummed in thought. "I suppose you're right,” he mused. “A kiss likely would've served the same purpose."

 _"Cas,"_ Dean hissed, grabbing at the other angel's wrist. "Don't _encourage_ this."

Castiel tilted his head, giving the perfect look of innocence to dress a thinly veiled raise of an eyebrow. "You had no reservations about this the first time you kissed _me."_

Dean made a noise of despair, begging for it all to stop.

“Hey, uh, did you ever end up talking to Akriti? About yesterday?” Sam asked, changing the subject and finally giving his brother an out.

Dean’s shoulders loosened in relief, his eyes grateful as he rubbed them and made to answer. “No,” he said, “uh, I was gonna leave her a voicemail, but I went lights-out before I could do it.” He glanced down at the table next to him, where the text on possession was still sitting. “I did read her journal-thing, though.”

“Yeah? Anything...that made sense to you, in there?” the younger hunter asked, leaning back and brushing a hand over his mouth.

“I guess, I mean...she mostly talked about the people. The- the vessels.” His tone caught on that word, but he shoved the feeling down, telling himself that it didn’t have to mean what it’d always meant to him. “How you can’t just pull any old schmuck off the streets and expect to be all fine and dandy.”

“This is correct,” Cas said, nodding. “Every person is capable of holding a different amount of angelic power. For most, it’s almost none, but some combinations of body and soul are more...durable.” He looked up. “Strong.”

“Angel grace goes _inside_ a person, right?” Charlie asked. “So is it like some people are thimbles, some people are mason jars, and some people are the Millenium Falcon?”

“Something like that, yes,” Cas answered, the ghost of a smile on his face. “In that spirit- Dean, if you are considering doing this, in the context of what Crowley asked...a small amount of grace will not suffice. You would need a very powerful vessel to store even _half_ your power, or to stand a fighting chance against demons and a powerful relic.”

Dean ran a hand through his hair, inhaling tightly. “Great,” he said. “That’s just _great._ Any ideas?” he asked, his teeth gritted slightly.

The air was silent for a moment, thoughts brushing in search of an option.

“....what about an archangel vessel?” Sam asked. “You’re basically that strong, right? And half your grace, almost all of it- an archangel vessel would be able to hold it. You.”

“I don’t know, I guess. Come on, though,” Dean scoffed, “are you saying you’ve got-”

But then he realized.

Sam was talking about _himself._

“You've got to be _kidding,”_ the seraph growled, feet finding the floor as heat crackled beneath his skin. “No. No, actually, scratch that. You’d _better_ be kidding, because no way in hell did you just suggest that and _mean_ it.”

“Dean,” the younger brother said calmly. “I did mean it. You need a vessel that’s strong. I’ve held Lucifer. I think I qualify.”

“Exactly! You’ve held _Lucifer!”_ Dean exclaimed. “You’ve had to play potato sack to the freakin’ _devil!”_ He forced his gaze away, running his tense knuckles over the front of his hair. “If you think I’m gonna put you through that again-”

“You’re not the devil.”

Dean’s mouth opened, then closed, unable to say anything in response.

“Hey, if it helps…" Charlie put in, shrugging. "What better way to protect Sam than from the inside, right?” When the others simply stared at her, she winced. “Look, maybe that sounded better in my head, but you get the point. If you go in after those demons, you know Sam is going to want to be there. So why not make the choice that lets you watch your back and be watching his at the same time?”

“She’s right, Dean,” Sam said gently, when the older Winchester himself said nothing. “Come on. We should at least give this a try.”

“No.” Dean’s fists were clenched. “No, I’m calling Crowley, and I’m telling him he can shove this whole shitfest idea up his ass. I don’t have to agree to this.”

“Crowley knows what you are,” Castiel reminded him, keeping his voice calm. “Right now, he is the only thing keeping the masses of hell from being aware that you are an angel, and he knows it.”

“Fine, then I tell him to get within batting distance, and I _smite_ him. Problem solved.”

“These demons have been stealing spell ingredients for weeks, and now they have some powerful relic, right?” Charlie asked. “Look, I don't wanna help Crowley either, but if they actually have plans...then we might need to stop them, whether or not it’s because he asked us to. And this looks like the only way.”

The room was quieted, Dean’s jaw tensing as his mind tried and failed to fight that logic.

“Dean,” Sam said, pushing just enough. “Can you do it?”

The seraph pressed his forehead into his hand, staying put despite every instinct telling him to say no and leave the room. “Probably,” he gritted at last.

“Then we’ll try it. And if it works, we’ll call Crowley. Deal?”

The older brother’s eyes itched to blaze with grace, but he nodded, forcing the frustration and fear to remain where they were.

“We won’t let anything happen,” Castiel murmured, gently lacing one arm through his other half’s elbow. “To Sam, or to you.”

“Ditto,” Charlie echoed. “If this doesn’t work with just the four of us, maybe we can call Akriti. Get her help.”

As appealing as it was, Dean shook his head. “She’s got important things to do. I’ll talk to her later, but only to keep her out of this shitstorm.” He swallowed, centering his gaze on his brother. “Alright. Fine. I’ll give you one test run. _One._ The second anyone feels anything wrong, even if it’s just because they need a damn cough drop, we’re shutting it down.”

“Sounds good.” Sam let the tension in his eyes loosen, trying to convey a sense of calm. “So, uh…” he said, shifting slightly on his feet. “Do you need to do anything to prepare, or…?”

Dean glanced at Cas, silently asking the expert.

“Begin by feeling for your surroundings, Dean, as Akriti wrote,” the other angel answered, stepping aside and giving Dean his space. “Sense through your grace, not your eyes. Reach out for Sam. Your target vessel. Don't hold back.”

The seraph looked at Sam, hesitating before he began. He swallowed, and then closed his eyes; exhaling, and letting the strength of his senses rise. His grace pulsed within him, slowly spreading out until he found his brother, until he could almost wrap himself around the reaches of the human soul. _Hey, Sammy,_ he murmured with his mind, at last making the first move. He could tell his voice was layered and ethereal like it became when he angeled up like this, but that Sam had heard him, by the way his aura briefly stirred. _You know…_ Dean tried, offering one last chance at an out. _You know you don't have to do this, right?_

 _It's okay, Dean. I want to,_ the younger hunter thought in response. Sam took a deep breath, and looked at his brother's standing form, resisting the urge to bite his lip. _As a vessel...you have my permission._ He then spoke aloud. "Dean, my answer is yes."

Dean took a breath, and as the sentiment reached him, he felt something in him begin to shift; a piece of himself suddenly crawling, coalescing, moving up from his chest into his throat. His eyes were alight, and his mouth opened, a stream of grace tunneling into the air. He didn’t know how to control it, didn’t know what his energies were doing, but after a trying few moments of building in size, the swirling mass reached the younger Winchester's lips- Sam's gaze going wide at the sensation of angelic essence entering and spreading inside his body, and trying to stay awake through the surge of _heat_ as it flowed, connecting to nerve cells and tissue and soul. Once it was over, his chin lowered to rest against the sternum beneath it.

For a moment...all was still.

"...whoa." Charlie breathed, taking a tentative step forward. "Hey, uh...Dean? Are you in there?"

Sam's head slowly rose, and his eyes flared a molten white, before the being inside him rescinded the light; focusing slowly on his hands, his form. The space he occupied.

"Yeah," Dean answered, his words catching, and coming out in his little brother's voice. "Yeah, it's- it's me."

 _Sammy, you in there?_ Dean thought, almost desperately so. _**Sam?**_

 _I'm here, Dean,_ came the reply. _You're in control, but I'm still awake. I’m fine._

Dean sucked in a breath, and reminded himself he was breathing through Sam's lungs, that his own body was standing, catatonic, just a few feet in front of him. "I think I'm gonna be sick," he muttered nervously. He was used to being relatively far from the floor, but not _this_ far. Not with Sam’s bulky shoulders rising and falling heavily in place of the frame he’d grown up in, or a barrel chest pressing against a flannel that he hadn’t been the one to buy.

 _Dean. Dean, listen to me,_ Sam thought out, his tone forceful but calm. _Just breathe. I know this isn't your body. But breathe anyway. Alright? Get a feel for movement. Try to take a step._

Dean swallowed, and looked at his _real_ body, its jaw evenly held and eyes closed; knuckles twitching slightly, but everything else otherwise still. He stepped forward, maneuvering Sam's taller, unbowed legs in an awkward motion before he stopped, making sure he'd caught his balance.

Charlie's breath was held, and Castiel had to draw on every fiber of strength he possessed not to reach forward and provide aid.

"How the hell do you move these things, Sammy, huh?" Dean asked, laughing slightly, giving a quiet rasp to his brother's voice.

 _Idiot,_ Sam responded, bringing some mirth, some levity to the situation so his brother wouldn't be thinking so hard. _Try again. Maybe...lean on something? Hold onto Charlie or Cas and just walk around the room and back?_

Dean nodded, ignoring the way it felt to have Sam’s hair shaking against his ears. "One of you mind giving me a hand, maybe?" he asked. "Sam says we should try getting from over here to over there."

"He's in there?" Charlie asked, glancing at Cas before setting down her breakfast food and moving to loop one of arms beneath Sam's- now Dean's, shoulder.

"Yeah," Dean answered. He then paused for a moment. "He says hi," he relayed, somewhat awkwardly. "Says he's listening, in case any of you've got anything to say to him."

“Well hey, Sam,” Charlie greeted, waiting as Dean caught his balance and tried to take a step before carefully moving along with him. “Guess you’ve got yourself a new secretary, huh? Spokesperson?” She paused for a second. "PR guy?"

Sam laughed inside his head, momentarily catching Dean off guard when he realized he could _feel_ that laughter bubbling, rippling in his chest even though that laughter - and that body - weren’t his. _Right,_ the seraph remembered. _I’m not supposed to be in here._

“Hey, on a scale from drugstore-medicine cup to a porsche, what kind of vessel do you think you are, huh?” the red-haired woman asked, again addressing Sam.

Dean snorted, making an effort to set aside the more trying of his thoughts. “Don’t compare my brother to one of those stupid European cars.”

Sam snorted right back, able to take satisfaction in it even if Dean was the only one who could hear him. _Can I be a prius?_ he asked.

“Sam, you disgust me,” Dean muttered.

It was a full five minutes before Charlie stopped trying to ask what Sam had said to warrant such a comment (but the initiative wasn't given up; she had every intention of finding out later on her own).

In that time, meanwhile, with Charlie’s help (and with Cas’s close hovering, trying to comfort Dean through his grace as much as he could), Dean was able to walk out of the library and circle the war room table; starting to get as comfortable as he could be in his little brother’s (literal) shoes.

“So...I guess we did it,” Dean said, now successfully standing on his own and facing the others. “Is that...it? Are we good?” The seraph was ready to leave, to let Sam have his own face and voice to himself like he was supposed to.

“Not quite,” Cas replied, tilting his head upward to speak to Dean (who was now three inches higher than usual, and therefore more demanding of those who wished to look him in the eye). “Channeling your grace through a vessel is...more difficult, than doing so in the form you find most natural. You need to practice using it, while within Sam’s body.”

“Dude,” Dean scoffed, “half the stuff I even know how to do is with my wings, which I’m pretty sure Sammy here doesn’t have. The rest is just that one demon I somehow managed to smite, on like, day three, and randomly answering people in enochian whenever they decide to prank me and slip it into the conversation. And, oh, I don’t know what the hell’ll happen if I try goin’ in the crypt with Sam along for the ride, so I’m not touching that with a ten-foot-pole. That’s _it.”_ He just barely resisted the urge to run an exasperated hand through the front of Sam’s hair (because he knew he’d never hear the end of it if he did). “What the hell are we supposed to do?”

“Well, it’s simple, then,” Charlie answered, eyes glinting as she crossed her arms. “You need a case.

“And I think I’ve got just the one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How many of you thought that's how this would go? Not a hard guess, I'll admit, but I'm curious to see what you thought about the way I decided to write it. If you enjoyed the multidimensional angel stuff, and the banter from this chapter, I promise; there is _so_ much more where that came from waiting around the corner. Seriously, the sheer number of angel things I get to describe in the upcoming chapters make me happier than a seraph in a blanket nest.
> 
> Teasers for next time:  
> This next chapter, like I mentioned in the beginning, has some of my favorite sequences from this story in it, much like this one did. There's three specific pieces to look forward to on that note, if anyone's curious.
> 
> Charlie presents the case, and the team gets ready to roll out; but how is everyone really feeling about this?  
> And with everything he's been through in the past, is Sam really okay with what he's signed up to do?
> 
> I can't wait to see your comments and what you thought of this one.  
> As always, thank you so much for reading! I'll see you next time <3


	36. Rolling Out With The Punches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everybody! I successfully managed to sit on my hands and wait ~four days before updating again. I swear, I have no idea how I sustain a posting schedule like this. I never understood how other writers could write enough to post thousands of words once a week or even _multiple_ times a week, and my god, even though I've become one of them, I still don't.  
> (I'm ridiculous. Several of you out there can vouch for this, and the rest of you have probably realized by now).
> 
> The music to go with this one is Bad Guy by Billie Eilish (but bonus: look up the version performed by The Interrupters), Mess by Noah Kahan, and In Hell I’ll Be In Good Company by The Dead South.
> 
> Enough of me; enjoy this one. I'll see you in the end notes ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note I'm adding because I suddenly realized. _90k???_ Oh my god. That's insane.  
> Thank you so much for following hand in hand on the way here, you guys.  
> <3

Charlie popped open her laptop and set it down on the war room table, opening her browser to a news article that had been flagged by one of the many search algorithms she'd designed to filter in potential cases. "Look. Just yesterday, a group of kids in Idaho went camping in the woods, and then went missing. This town's seen deaths that match vampire feedings and werewolf killings before, but never missing people en masse. The counselor who was with the kids was found with his blood drained and heart gone." She bit her lip. "It looks like a monster team-up."

"Or we finally found a werepire," Dean said. He then grinned, realizing something. "Hey, Sammy. Guess I finally got you to say it, huh? _Werepire._ You can't lie to me, it does roll off the tongue."

 _You're an idiot,_ Sam replied. _Focus. Do we have a guess on where the monsters-_ whatever _they are, might be holding the kids, if they’re still alive?_

Dean relayed the question, (after a moment wherein he successfully forgot that he was the only one who could still hear his brother), and Charlie squinted, scrolling down on the screen for more information.

"They're not sure," she said. “They’re searching the forest where the group was last spotted.”

 _Hey, Dean- how good have you gotten at sensing human souls?_ Sam asked.

“I don’t know, uh,” the seraph answered, glancing up at Charlie and shaking his head to let her know he wasn’t talking to her. “Cas says I’m better than him at it since my grace is kind of built for that sort of thing, or something. But if we need to find the kids, and not the dozen park rangers that'll be scouting the place out, I don’t know how to make that happen.”

“Dean,” Cas said, able to derive Sam’s question from context, “you have shown the ability to sense those whose energies you are familiar with. To make what I believe Sam is suggesting work, what you need is a way to become familiar with one of the souls that we need to locate.”

 _What if we interviewed one of the parents?_ Sam suggested. _We take Cas and Charlie, and they ask questions while we look around?_

Dean relayed the idea, watching as the two of them considered it.

“That may work,” Castiel said, nodding. “The room of a child in particular would be abundant with their...spectral fingerprint, so to speak. Reading it and using it in tracking efforts could very well save the group, in addition to being good practice for the both of you.”

“Alright,” Dean nodded. “Cool. Uh...I’m gonna get out of here, for now, then. Sam’s gotta change,” he told them, somewhat awkwardly.

Charlie and Cas each took a step back, giving the brothers their space. Dean looked over at his real body, still standing catatonic by the bookshelves. _You ready, Sam?_ he asked tentatively with his thoughts.

_Ready._

Taking a deep breath, Dean felt for his grace, flowing in tandem with Sam’s blood, and he dug into the space between them- trying to sever the connection. There was a flare of sensation as he fumbled, attempting to get free, but then something clicked, and the thread was cut; releasing the energies to pull in and coalesce, to wind and press together like chromosomal matter in a cell’s nucleus when it prepared to split. And bit by bit, the power drained from its vessel and began to flow to its mouth, thrusting the chin into the air until the last of it was gone, at last able to seek its rightful form.

Dean felt his lifeblood reuniting with his body with a gasp, eyes going molten and the runes in his back singing in restoration. It was like taking all the pieces of the universe that created _him_ and giving them back their real shape, like stars returning to alignment and the cosmos sighing out in a sense of ease. He breathed, breathed _hard_ when the ability to do so hit him like a crashing wave, and he glanced up at where Sam was staring, wide-eyed.

“Sammy?” Dean asked, speaking without thinking but finding nothing but relief when he registered that his voice was actually _his._ “Sammy, are you okay?”

“Y-yeah,” Sam replied, having caught his balance on the war room table and taking a moment to process. “Wow." He blinked, adjusting to being himself again. "Seeing through your eyes..."

Dean gave him a look, as if asking what exactly he meant.

"Uh, because of your grace, I mean,” Sam tried to explain. “The sounds. The colors. The...waves.” When he paused, his gaze was awed. “I didn’t know just waves could paint a picture like that.”

Dean lifted a hand to scratch at the back of his neck, stretching out some of the muscles that had briefly gone stiff. “Yeah,” he murmured thickly. “Turns out they can.”

He glanced at Cas, and something that had been wobbling in his gaze came to rights when met with the rings of comforting azure. _You’re okay,_ those blue eyes told him. _You’re alright._

Sam made a face, watching the silent communication proceed. “Thank god the two of them didn’t do that when Dean was possessing me,” he muttered to Charlie, who had moved to stand at his side.

“That was only ten minutes,” she murmured back. “You guys are gonna be sharing a face for an entire case. I promise, he’ll slip within an hour. Probably less.”

The younger Winchester shuddered, eyes taking on a look of barely contained horror. “Charlie,” he whispered. “I don’t need to know what that’s like from the inside.”

She winced in sympathy. “Don’t worry. I promise not to take too many pictures.”

“You- _Char-”_

“Hey, uh, Sam,” Dean called, grabbing his brother’s attention (and unknowingly saving him from that mortifying train of thought), before holding up the Impala’s keys. “For later.” He cleared his throat. “...you want these?”

“...depends,” Sam replied, his stance shifting. “Do I actually get to drive?”

Dean glanced at Cas, features pulled into something of silent question as he tried to figure out how to make this work with him behind the car’s wheel, and in a way that kept Sam comfortable as well. “If we really have to do this, we could shove my body in the trunk?” Dean suggested, wincing. “I drive there, I get out and stow away, then Sam and I...?”

“I sincerely doubt that you would be able to hide that level of conspiracy from those in the surrounding area, Dean,” Cas responded, a knowing smile on his face at the seraph’s effort. “However, I could offer another solution. When within a vessel...an angel does not necessarily have to be the one in control.”

Dean’s eyes widened in realization. “Hey, that’s right,” he said. He then turned his gaze to his brother, trying not to appear as subtly nervous as he still felt about this. “You- you okay with that, Sam?” he asked, scratching at the back of his neck. “With me, uh...”

“Hitching a ride?” Sam offered. “Yeah, sure,” he said, laughing and brushing a hand over his chin. “Just let me go change.”

He began to walk toward his room and made a half-joking face of relief at Charlie on his way out, which was returned with a laugh and a fist pump in solidarity.

The red-haired woman then looked over once Sam was gone, however, and saw that Dean was rubbing at the side of his face; flexing his fingers with a tense set to his lips as he did so. “Hey, uh…” she began, walking over, letting a teasing smile rise to her face. “Come on, gimme the goods. Could you hear Sam’s thoughts in there?”

“Nah, I tried to- you know, leave his head alone.” Dean then pursed his lips. “I guess some of the angel senses got in there anyway, though.”

“Dean,” Cas said, resting a hand on the seraph’s shoulder. “That was an effect of your grace on his body as a whole. He was unhurt. Only...allowed to see the way you can.”

Dean scoffed, but with an air of resignation. “I guess so,” he admitted. “I don’t know, alright? Sue me, I’m freakin’ worried about the kid. He thinks I don’t know about it, but he had nightmares for nearly a _year_ after Lucifer. Hell, I bet he still does. There’s no way he’s okay with this.”

“He told you himself,” Charlie put in. “You’re not the devil.”

Dean’s eyes closed, rolling his head back. “I’m doin’ the same thing to him that the devil did, aren’t I?” he muttered.

“Stop thinking about Sam for a minute,” Charlie told him gently. “What was it like? For _you?”_

He blinked at her, as if needing specifics, and she snorted. 

"I don't know, what was it like being three inches taller? Basically forming a real-life version of Voltron?” she prompted, reaching out to teasingly smack him in the arm. “Come on, think of something! I’m not the expert on possession here!”

"I believe the role of expert might fall to me," Cas said with a mirthful expression.

Dean gave him a slight smirk.

The mood successfully lightened, Charlie headed out to get ready herself, and Dean and Cas waited for her and Sam to return.

“You’re nervous,” Castiel murmured, trailing a gentle finger along the length of the seraph’s arm.

“So are you,” Dean muttered back, grace briefly rippling beneath his skin. “You’re just better at hiding it.” One corner of his mouth then lifted, as his gaze shifted to the corner of his eye. “Actually, scratch that. Not so much since I got your wings out.”

The remains of Cas’s feathers in the spectral realm gave a flare of annoyance, a gesture that was ultimately softened by fondness. The former soldier of heaven had mostly kept them tucked in close against his back ever since they’d been unbound, but movements still escaped his conscious control given how unused he was to them being free.

“We shouldn’t be dealing with this demon crap, or taking cases to gear up for it,” Dean said, watching, his lip taking on a guilty set. “We have our own priorities.”

“My wings can wait, _ol hoath.”_ Cas leaned closer, letting the curve of his chest fit gently against his other half’s side. “This is important.”

The Winchester sighed, clearly not agreeing, but he knew he couldn’t argue.

“Dean?” Cas asked after a few moments.

“Yeah?”

“Do you know how proud I am of you?”

Dean shifted, and moved Cas’s arms, slowly turning so he could look the other angel in the eye. “What?”

“Do you know,” Castiel repeated, “how _proud_ I am of you?”

“For what?” Dean had intended to scoff, but instead it came out in a breath.

“For being what you are, even when you are afraid.”

Dean met his gaze, stilled with a mix of puzzlement and surprise.

Cas stepped away, and smiled, before tipping his head toward the hall. “You might wish to make your arrangements with Sam before we leave,” he said, changing the subject like that’s what they’d been talking about all along. “Storing your body in the Impala’s trunk would be a poor choice, and so would be leaving it on the floor of the garage.”

The seraph blinked, mind swirling at the sudden topic transition, and Cas leaned in amidst the confusion, placing a gentle kiss against Dean’s cheek. 

“As I am sure Sam would prefer I not do that later on,” he explained, eyes twinkling with a laugh.

Dean stared, forced to physically shake his head in order to clear the haze of bafflement. “I regret every movie with a smooth playboy I ever forced you to watch,” he said, finding that he meant it wholeheartedly.

Cas smirked. “You should’ve been prepared. The knowledge those movies gave me was never going to go anywhere else.”

Dean made a noise of exasperation. “I’ll find the Samsquatch," he said, knowing he couldn't win. "You load up Baby, alright? Try not to make anyone faint.” He turned around before he could hear Cas’s reply, but he was able to feel spectral wingtips playfully brushing against his back, and had to resist the temptation to turn around and retaliate.

He walked until he’d reached Sam’s room, and hesitated for a second before knocking, and waited until he was let inside.

“Hey,” the younger brother said, opening the door and turning back around to tie his tie around his neck. “Almost ready. You wanna, uh, leave your body in here?”

Dean shuddered at the wording, and how casually Sam had spoken it. “First of all. We need a better way of saying...that,” he answered, gesturing with one hand definitively in the air in front of him. “And yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s what Cas just told me to do.”

“Alright, well,” Sam finished with his tie, and then let his arms fall, swallowing once in anticipation. “Go ahead.”

Dean didn’t move, instead staring ahead, his senses opening and searching for whatever emotion was swirling about his brother’s chest. He was reaching out, like before, the first step of the process. But not for the same reason.

When he waited, what greeted him first was the shape of nervousness, like twine wound over itself in fraying loops, and then subtle anticipation; like the crisp scent of dew, the kind that accompanied any case. But then...just beneath it, like it’d recently been shaken loose...there was _fear,_ like a field from the soils of hell, every stalk in its vastness deathly still.

The kind with roots that went deep, deeper than Dean could leave alone.

“Damnit, Sam, you have to _tell_ me when you’re afraid,” the seraph gritted, his knuckles briefly clenching. “I shouldn’t have to scan your brain to figure it out.”

Sam’s eyes widened, and then he swallowed, shifting in his stance. “It’s not you that I’m afraid of, Dean,” he said carefully. “It’s not this, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

“Oh, sorry, you’re telling me I don’t have to _worry_ about it?” Dean scoffed, throwing down a hand over his leg. “You’re scared _shitless_ under there, Sam! All I had to do was look, and it was like the second thing I found.”

“It’s not you, alright! So can we please just get on with this?”

“Don’t make me try to root around in your head, Sam,” the older Winchester said, his eyes darkening.

“Really? You’re threatening me like that?” his brother scoffed. “Jesus, Dean, you had a whole ethical freakout over the idea of borrowing someone’s body, but getting inside their _mind? That’s_ what you’re okay with?”

Dean looked like he’d been slapped, but he held his ground regardless. Not for himself, damnit, but for _this._ “Sam,” he pressed. “You’re _scared.”_ He breathed deep. “And it’s not new.” He stepped forward, maintaining his distance but trying to make his point. “Talk to me, man. I’ve never gotten this out of you before, and it’s scaring _me._ First Cas’s wings, and now this, all of this crap just under my nose?”

Sam sighed, sitting down on his bed and rubbing his eyes.

“Please, Sam.”

“...fine,” he answered at last, consigned. “It’s...that fear? That’s what happens when you’ve seen Lucifer’s real face. That’s it. It’s not you.” Dean stilled, and the younger hunter continued, aiming to get the reality of it out now that he’d been forced to bring it up. “And, look, I know he’s gone, and you didn’t- you didn’t do anything like he did. But saying yes like that, even if this time it was actually kind of cool…” He looked away. “I just don’t have good memories associated with that much power. Yet.”

Dean’s heart felt weighted and anxious at the same time, and it must’ve shown in his face, because Sam met his gaze reassuringly, subtly shaking his head. “Hey, it’s fine,” he said. “I mean that. I just have to get used to it, like you do.”

The younger Winchester then stood up, and glanced down at his bed, before looking back at the angel in front of him. “So, uh, you wanna lie down before you...you know?” he offered. “I mean, it’s not your room,” he smirked lightly, “but I’m sort of borrowing your grace, so I don’t mind returning the favor.”

Dean had to force himself to move, slowly lying down before exhaling, and meeting his brother’s eyes. “Just the backseat,” he said aloud, his voice quieted. “Just the backseat, I promise. I’m not- my hands are gonna stay off the steering wheel.”

Sam smiled. “I know.” He breathed deep, and closed his eyes. “I’m ready, Dean.”

_My answer is yes._

-:-:-:-

Cas and Charlie were waiting when Sam walked down to the garage, a bag slung over one shoulder as he adjusted his collar for about the sixth time in the last three minutes. “Damn,” he muttered to the angel in his head. “Now I get what you meant when you were complaining about angel senses and suit jackets.”

 _Damn right,_ Dean replied. _Starch is a menace._

Sam huffed a laugh, and approached the duo by the car, having to blink when the feeling of Cas’s grace washed over him, and the light reflecting off the Impala’s paint permeated the cones of his eyes. “Whoa.” He rubbed at his face, trying to adjust to the sensations. “It wasn’t like this before. So…much.”

Dean’s energies immediately made as if to tighten and retreat inside, but Sam shook his head, willing the shift to stop. “It’s fine, Dean,” he murmured. "I don't mind."

Cas stepped toward him, holding out a hand to take the bag and place it with the others in the trunk. “Are the both of you settled, Sam?” he asked.

“Yeah,” the younger Winchester said, nodding, and handing the zippered canvas over. He watched Cas turn around, and made to get the Impala’s keys out of his pocket, when he stopped, his breath escaping him in a gasp.

Cas’s wings.

He could _see_ them.

Dean felt his pause, and something like a pang of guilt breached Sam’s chest.

“The second that we’re through with this,” Sam whispered, so only his brother could hear it. “He’s our first priority.”

Dean didn’t respond, but the deep, grateful pulse of his grace said it all.

They got in the car, and Sam slotted the keys in the ignition, taking a breath before dropping his foot over the gas.

No matter how much power amassed under their sleeves, it seemed…

Their to-do lists would always be full.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hhh. This chapter had me smiling or laughing in some places and hhhing in others. Feel free to call me out in the comments if I got you doing either ;)
> 
> Teasers for next time:  
> Our merry band drives out to Idaho, and the case begins with the interview. Angel things ensue; but how as they get what they need...what's going to happen as Sam feels the implications of playing vessel to a seraphim?
> 
> Some of my favorite writing is in this next chapter, and so I can't wait to share it with you all (and see what you thought of today's update in the meantime). I'm really curious how Dean and Sam coexisting like this is sitting for you guys so far.  
> I'll see you all next time, lovelies~  
> I hope you have a wonderful time until then <3


	37. Street View

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everybody! Hope you've been having a terrific day so far! I'm really psyched to put this chapter up for you guys, and hopefully you're psyched to read. There's so many angel things in this one and all the next ones, aaaahhh, I can't wait to put it all up. So many little things I get to describe that make me so happy XD
> 
> The music I'm pairing with this one is Save The Life Of My Child by Simon and Garfunkel, and All Die Young by Smith Westerns (which has the most beautiful [album cover](https://images.app.goo.gl/G7f6J1C5pyJKENzq9), if you decide to take a look). 
> 
> I'll let you get to reading now. I'll see you in the end notes ;)

They drove more or less through the rest of the day and into the night, Charlie riding shotgun while Cas made himself comfortable in the backseat.

“It’s unreal,” Sam was telling the red-haired woman next to him, sometime after she'd taken a short nap. “I can feel the engine, the bits of gravel over the road. It’s like a- like a 5D image in my brain, like it’s all happening _inside._ Like I’ve got front row seats to the entire world.”

Dean’s grace curled warmly, as if in the metaphysical version of a snort. _Glad one of us can enjoy this,_ he said. _Half the time I try to pay enough attention to this stuff to actually process it, I end up on the floor._

Sam grinned. “Dean says he’s glad I can handle this. Apparently he can’t, usually.”

Charlie laughed. “Guess we know which of you is the angelic lightweight, huh Dean?”

The seraph's response wasn't something Sam was willing to repeat, and it had them laughing nearly the rest of the way.

They pulled into the town where the kids had gone missing around noon, parking the Impala a street down from where the parent they wanted to question lived. She was a single mother, and a quote from her in the news surrounding the case had said that she wouldn't leave home; in case her son (who was around thirteen years old) was able to find his way back.

"Are the two of you clear on what you need to do?" Castiel asked, pressing his FBI badge into the pocket of his suit jacket.

"Yeah, um," Sam replied, thinking for a moment. "We have to go up to the kid's room, and get a feel for all the waves in there. Sort of like a bloodhound picking up a scent."

"Yes. And in the meantime, Charlie and I will speak to the mother." His gaze shifted, looking not just into Sam's eyes, but at what lay inside. "Dean," he said, "let me know once you have finished, and we will prepare to leave."

 _Alright,_ Dean agreed, grace pulsing in affirmation.

Cas smiled, having been able to feel it.

The three of them (plus the angel riding backseat) exited the car and headed toward the line of homes, double-checking that they had the right address before going up to the door and knocking twice.

A black-haired woman came to answer, her eyes tired and her clothes appearing unchanged from an interview she'd done the day prior. "Yes?" she asked, without more than a moment’s pause. "Do you have news of my son?"

"Hi, Ms. Kim," Charlie said, stepping forward and taking the lead. "We don't, yet, but we're here to help find him. I'm agent Carrara with the FBI, and these are my associates, agents Saltzman and Arnold. Would you mind if we came inside, maybe asked you a few questions?”

Ms. Kim seemed hesitant, but something in her eyes belied a sense of desperation that Sam could practically feel himself through Dean’s grace.

“Alright,” she conceded at last, stepping back and letting the door open fully. “Come in. I’m grateful for anyone willing to help bring Liam home.”

The three of them blinked in thanks and filed into the living room, sitting down when Ms. Kim gestured for them to do so. “So,” she began. “Would you like me to start from the beginning?”

“Yeah, it would be great if you could,” Sam said, resisting the urge to fidget and trying to focus only on what was right in front of him. “Any detail, no matter how small, might be a big help.”

The mother nodded in understanding, and took a breath, compiling her thoughts to explain.

 _It’s like her heart’s being pressed in seven directions at once,_ Sam thought to his brother, feeling something ache in his own chest. _Like it’s going to_ break.

 _That’s because it is,_ Dean replied. His tone was matter-of-fact, but a spectral echo of uncertainty, of wanting to do something because of how much of this pain he could feel betrayed what he was really thinking. _Focus. She’s gonna start talking._

“Liam, ehm- my son, that is,” she said, “and a group of his friends who were in the boy scouts persuaded him to go camping with them, in the woods. Normally I would never allow it, but they were supposed to stick to a _specific_ route, with rangers nearby, counselors watching at all times. Liam promised he would check in every afternoon, every night, no exceptions.” She shook her head, grief and regret and _worry_ piercing her expression like needles from the inside out. “Two days, he was fine. He was to be home that evening. But then their bus, it never arrived. I waited, all night, but it still didn’t come. The other parents weren’t concerned, but I knew better. So I called the forest offices. I thought I would drive out to the area. But then they found the lead counselor outside the trail, his-” She broke off, clearing her throat as the emotion began to swirl. “His _heart,_ ripped from his bones. They sent us all home, told us to be patient. They said they were searching, and then spent more time talking to the press than they did actually _looking.”_

“I’m...so, sorry, Ms. Kim,” Sam said, and god, in the depths of his soul, he meant it. “I promise. We- we aren’t here for anything else. We _will_ find your son, and the others.” He cleared his throat, glancing toward the stairs. “Do you, uh, mind if I use your bathroom?” he asked.

The woman nodded, sniffing briefly and brushing her fingers below her eye. “Upstairs. To the left,” she told him. “Go ahead.”

Sam nodded, and began to walk, his breathing hitching and forcing him to hold the banister tight.

 _Sam,_ Dean said, concern building. _Sam, talk to me. Now._

“I’m fine,” the younger brother murmured in reply, speaking quickly beneath his breath and trying to calm his mind. “I’m fine, it just-” He broke off, laughing shakily. “I don’t know how you’ve been able to do it, Dean.” He inhaled, all the sensations still patterning his mind. “Feeling so _much_ all the time.”

 _You get used to shutting it out,_ the seraph told him. _But you’ve gotta focus, man._ He paused. _I- I can’t dial back until we’ve got what we need._

Sam nodded, inhaling deep and glancing down the hall before approaching the room he guessed was Liam’s, and slowly nudging open the door.

 _I’m gonna let it in, alright?_ Dean said, once they were inside. _The waves, or whatever. I’m gonna go slow, but you’re the filter, Sam. Slam the brakes if it’s too much._

“I’m ready.”

If Dean could’ve, he’d have closed his eyes, but instead he took the plunge into the stars and light that now made up his whole being; letting himself fall into the thrum and pulse of his grace like he was dunking his head into a bucket filled with the night sky. He felt for Sam’s edges, growing hazier with every second that passed, and spread his awareness past them, into every notch in the kid’s desk; every neat, looping letter in his notebooks; every wave knitted into every well-worn novel and action figure and model kit on the shelves. He drank in the echoes of the soul that had imprinted themselves between these four walls, memorized the curves and crests that pressed into one another like a blanket of _being_ that covered the space from end to end.

Sam gasped, the strength of it all streaming into him, around him, _through_ him, and he remembered Jimmy Novak’s words from years in the past. _Like being chained to a comet._

It could’ve been minutes or it could’ve been hours, but once the trance-like state broke, Sam’s chest sank; air catching against his lips as he tried to remember how to breathe. His mind was spinning, sensations retreating and hum receding like waves pulling away from a shore, but he was still soaked, still levitated over sand that wasn’t real.

 _Sam?_ a voice in his head asked, and it took him a moment to remember whose voice that was. _Sammy? Are you-_

 _I-I’m okay, Dean,_ the younger Winchester thought back, ignoring the way his mind’s tone felt fragile, thin like the string of a kite drifting in the air. _Tell Cas we’re done,_ he told his brother. He didn’t think anything after that, just letting his mind go blank.

Dean sent out a trepidant pulse with his energies, working carefully like the body in his grasp was made of glass. He waited until he registered a sense of affirmation, and then he tried to fill Sam with warmth, warmth and ease and nothing else. _Hey,_ he murmured, doing his best to be reassuring and not to freak out, over whether or not he’d pushed his baby brother too hard. All he could see was the disused vessels of Raphael, the pictures painted of his own future during the apocalypse. _Hey, stay with me, alright?_

 _I want to sleep f'r a year,_ Sam told him, still too fatigued to try to voice his thoughts out loud.

 _I know, Sam,_ Dean replied, just trying to keep him awake for now. _You’ve earned it._

-:-:-:-

Sam took a moment to breathe and get his bearings, and Dean made an effort to dampen the effects of his grace, dialing down their openness to all the stimulus around them. It felt like stifling himself, pushing cotton against his mouth, but he didn’t stop. _Almost there, Sammy,_ Dean told him. _Just keep moving._

"Thanks," Sam murmured, holding the banister as he made his way down the stairs. The world had receded into something closer to the way he knew it as a human, and while he didn't want to have to push the new senses out, he was still grateful for the chance to rest his brain.

When he reached the living room, Charlie was shaking Ms. Kim's hand and promising to call her soon, and Cas looked at the two Winchesters, his gaze searching as he felt the state of them both. _Are you alright?_ he asked silently.

Sam nodded as best as he could, and then the three of them went outside, soon retreating to the privacy of the Impala.

"Dude," Charlie said, once she was settled in the backseat. "You look like you were out all night at a party that didn't exist."

"Feels like I was," Sam replied, wincing and rubbing his eyes. "I think I'm fine, though. Just need a recharge. Let my brain...process."

"You found what you needed?" Cas asked.

Sam felt his body sinking against the Impala’s leather, and then realized he didn’t know. “Dean?” he asked, his eyelids fluttering.

 _Yeah, I did,_ Dean said, but his worry was only growing. _Sam?_

“What, Dean?” the younger brother asked, in a murmur like he was halfway to falling asleep.

 _I need to talk to Cas. You- I’m-_ The seraph really didn’t want to panic, not when he was just a bunch of light in the back of his brother’s head, but the pulse of Sam’s soul around him (almost waning in brightness) was pushing him in that direction. _Sam. Tell Cas that something’s wrong._

“I’m gonna...I’m gonna take a nap,” Sam announced, only a small breath pushing his voice from his throat. “If you need to talk to him, go ah’d. Take the...the wheel.”

_Sam, you-_

But by the time he could finish, his brother was out like a light.

Dean had to tell Cas himself.

Left with no other option, the seraph hesitantly tiptoed into the driver’s seat; rising above Sam’s consciousness and gaining control in the instant his grace hit the closed eyes and pushed them open.

“Cas,” Dean said in a rush, Sam’s voice coming out in a tone of desperation. “Shit, Cas, it’s me. Sam, he’s- I don’t know what-”

“Dean.” The other angel silenced him with a single word, locking gazes with no trepidation. “When you used your power to draw on the print of the boy’s essence, you channeled your grace through Sam’s soul. I told you, if you recall, that things operate differently when a vessel is involved. Residual energies were siphoned from him in a way that he is not used to, and I doubt that the sheer vastness of what he would’ve experienced helped matters either. But he will be _fine.”_ He hesitated, but then leaned forward, placing a hand over the one that currently belonged to Dean. “All he requires is rest.”

Dean stared into his eyes, latching on like they were the only thing keeping him tied to the ground. “You sure?” he demanded.

“Yes. I promise.” Cas let his grace stroke the edges of Dean’s form, swirling amid the stars that now made up the love of his life. “You have done nothing to harm him.”

The seraph let out the breath he’d been holding, and looked down at Sam’s hands, reacclimating himself to the sensation of moving them on his own. “Alright,” he said, shaking his brother’s head and closing his eyes as long strands of hair fell over his line of sight. He looked down and reached into the right pocket for the keys, and glanced at the ignition.

He resisted the urge to bite his lips.

“In the future,” Cas murmured, “try to sense the energies present around you. Direct _them,_ instead of drawing on your strength alone. It will make things easier on both you and Sam.”

Dean nodded. “Thanks.”

He sighed, and then moved at last to start the car.

“I guess it’s time to drive.”

-:-:-:-

In the same town, the driver of another car pulled in to stop outside a forest; someone that didn’t happen to catch sight of the moving Impala, but might’ve recognized its luster if they had.

The owner pulled in to stop, got out, and checked that the blades on her person were all in place before locking her rented vehicle up tight.

She curled her lip, dark ponytail brushing her shoulders as she began the trek into the woods.

She pushed a breath from her mouth in anticipation.

It was time to remove some heads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another mystery person in our chapter cliffhangers...I wonder who she could be (*mysterious writer noises*)  
> Feel free to call out any guesses you have in the comments!
> 
> Teasers for next time:  
> Oh boy. I thought this next chapter was just going to be a walk in the woods and some other action, but in true me fashion, it became a chapter that's packed, and I mean filled to the _brim_ with multidimensional angel things. So much. God, I loved writing it. There were points when I was shoving the words out in a sort of cathartic fury because I decided I was going to make you all see the visuals I wanted to describe, however many mental word searches it took me to open up my brain onto the document where I write.
> 
> I can't wait for you guys to read it; and until then, I can't wait to see what you thought of this one.  
> I'll see you in the comments, lovelies ;)  
> I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day <3


	38. A Walk In The Woods (Lost And Found)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everybody! So, before we get started, a few things about this chapter.  
>  _What I thought before writing it:_ Ah, yes, a walk in the woods, resolving the cliffhangers from last time. The usual 2-3k, maybe, the usual.  
>  _What really ended up happening:_ Right as I go to post, I check the word count and realize that it's almost a whopping 4.3k, and find myself forced to stack this on top of the knowledge that today's update is filled to the brim with angel things upon angel things and so much exploitation of....everything in this part of the story, honestly, that it might be borderline shameless.
> 
> We love it when that happens, don't we.
> 
> The music for this one is Vide Noir by Lord Huron, Soldier, Poet, King by The Oh Hellos, and Beyond The Sea by Bobby Darin, and with that...I'll let you all get to reading!
> 
> I'll see you at the end! It'd be really cool to know if any of you read through my summary ramblings every time, by the way- posting a chapter feels like kicking back in a cozy recliner and I love getting to say a little hello to you all before I do that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so, time for the overflow. I exceeded the summary character limit (as is my magical power, fun fact), and so I'm sticking it here.
> 
> Given how long this one is, it might be a little longer before I post again, but I say this with the addendum that, well; yall know me. I somehow, _somehow_ write enough to have posted seven times between February 4th and 22nd, which is exactly three weeks, and all but one of those chapters were on average 2.5k words in length or more. "A little longer" probably just means one more day, or two more days tacked onto the wait you would've had already.  
> Who knows.  
> If I figure out how I manage to write enough to keep up like this, I promise, I'll share that secret with you all. I don't know about you, but I'd certainly love to have that knowledge in my pocket.

It took Dean a full five minutes to shuffle Sam’s body behind the wheel and figure out how to slip the seat further back, far enough that the ridiculously large feet he was now tied to weren’t crowding the gas pedal. “Jesus, Sam,” he muttered under his breath, “Really wishing I hadn’t fed you all those wheaties when you were a kid.”

Once he got a feel for the gear shift and steering wheel in fingers that weren’t his own, he held his breath and pulled out, taking directions from Cas to get to the vicinity of the woods and the area where the group of boys had been dropped off. About a half hour had passed by the time they got there, and Sam slowly began to stir, his mind blinking awake as the group pulled into the parking lot.

 _Hey, you…_ Sam thought out, once he gained awareness. _You good up there?_

 _Just waitin’ to switch over, buddy,_ Dean replied, flicking his gaze toward Castiel to let the angel know he needed a minute. Cas nodded, and he and Charlie got out of the car, leaving him inside. _You feelin’ any better after that nap you took?_

 _Yeah...I think so._ Sam’s soul hummed, almost in the equivalent of a yawn, but it felt far less fatigued than it had before. _Sorry for just dropping off like that. I didn’t mean to scare you._

 _Don’t worry about it._ Dean looked up, glancing at the time on the Impala’s dashboard. _We just drove out to where those kids started their trip-thing,_ the seraph told him, figuring he might need to be filled in. _Thought we might try to pick up a trail, now that we know what we’re looking for._

 _Sounds good._ Sam paused for a moment, thinking. _You wanna keep the wheel?_

 _Nah,_ Dean told him. _It’d probably be easier if I just focus on all this angel stuff, and let you do the moving._

 _Alright._ Sam’s energies fluttered in gratitude. _Would you mind, um...maybe getting us out of the car, before bringing me back up?_ the younger brother asked, somewhat awkwardly. He then laughed. _I feel like I might fall asleep again if I don’t start standing._

_Yeah, sure thing._

Dean maneuvered them out the car’s door and then locked the Impala tight, moving Sam’s fingers with a small measure of deftness but more than that like he was doing his best to be careful.

Sam didn't say anything, but he was grateful nonetheless.

"So, uh, Sam's awake," Dean said, walking over to Cas and Charlie and briefly eyeing two forest rangers who were leaving in the other direction. "I'm gonna hand the steering wheel back off in a second." He inclined Sam's chin (being forced to blink when hair crowded his line of sight), and his gaze took on a hint of question. "What did those rangers want?"

"We spoke to them, and we now have permission to aid in the search," Cas told him. "Whenever you both are ready, we can begin the path into the woods."

Dean nodded. "Okay, Sammy," he murmured, squaring his stance so it wouldn’t give out after he passed it over. "I'm gonna dial back. This is probably gonna feel a little weird."

_I'm ready._

Dean shifted his grace, focusing as much as he could, and almost _fell_ backwards on the inside; going from above Sam's consciousness to beneath it, from around it to behind it. Sam's body relaxed the second Dean's control washed away, and the younger Winchester breathed, almost losing his balance but breathing again to steady himself. He could still feel the grace inside him, the power, the _vastness_ riding just beneath his skin- almost more strongly than before as if he were growing more in-tune with it all. But it was him curling his fingers, not someone else.

He inhaled a third time, letting the air spill inside his lungs. He felt like he would never take that feeling for granted again.

“Hey, you good, Sam?” Charlie asked. “You gave us a good scare earlier.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, rolling his shoulders once as if to gesticulate, but then he was briefly startled by the realization. Shoulder-rolling. That’s what Dean had started doing in the past month.

Because of his wings.

The younger Winchester thought about the space behind him, really _thought_ about it, and now that he was devoting attention to it, he could’ve sworn he felt the outline of feathers; that when he moved, he could sense the phantom echo of rachis shifting along with his weight, vanes flaring in time with his thoughts. Dean’s thoughts. It was unsettling, yet comforting at the same time.

 _Hey, Dean,_ Sam thought, addressing his brother directly. _You’re sure I’m not suddenly gonna end up with wings or anything, right? This is just a...vessel thing?_

Dean was still for a moment. _Ask Cas,_ he answered finally, tone uncertain.

“Hey, uh, Cas?” Sam asked, drawing the trenchcoated angel’s attention. “Just wondering, do you know, uh, how Dean’s wings...translate, when he’s in another vessel?”

“The spectral presence of his wings is tied to his grace. You do not possess their physical manifestation, but if you wanted an analogy…” The former resident of heaven trailed off, thinking for a moment. “The feathers in Dean’s back are almost a vessel of their own, for the essence of which his wings truly are. A second layer, of sorts, that allows them to enter the material world. That vessel remains in one place, but those essences follow Dean himself wherever it is that he goes. In that state, they are more similar to my own wings, if more...abstract, in nature. Dean is growing into his power enough that this etheric form is beginning to take on a greater solidity."

Sam nodded, taking that information in. He then laughed. “Good to know I won’t wake up with feathers on my back anytime in the future,” he said. “I think this is enough.”

“Really?” Charlie commented, making a pout with her lips. “No good vessel compensation? You should sue, Sam. You’d think you’d at least get a nice halo out of it.”

 _Cas is the one with the halo,_ Dean muttered, despite his brother’s laughter. _And you practically have one of your own already, all those puppy-eyes you make to talk me into things._

Sam smirked. “Too much of a romantic for a halo, huh, Dean?”

_Shut up._

The repartee soon after adjourned, and the three bodies began to approach the forest, slowing in their pace as they reached the police equipment set up around a choke point at the beginning of the trail where the campers had entered the woods those few days prior.

"Dean," Cas murmured, just loud enough for the seraph and his brother to hear it over the breathing and fluttering movement of the park officials in their sight. "The way you would scan the page of a book for a word. You must look into the spectral plane, and begin searching for the imprint of the boy's soul."

Dean's grace briefly bunched together, like a sheet coaxing into itself with anticipation. _Alright. Uh, Sammy? I'm gonna try to do it, okay? Without- without draining you out, like last time._

"I trust you, Dean," Sam murmured.

_If this works, it's gonna be trippy. There's a reason I called this place rainbowland._

Sam took a breath, readying himself, and the seraph's energies did the same; opening up to the waves and layers of the world around them. Dean rose, not for the purpose of taking control, but to catch the window into the other realm and then cast that light over his brother's eyes. He was a conduit. He was stars, he was stars, and the air’s hum was _more_ and he was _sight-_

And then Sam found his vision tuning, opening up into a universe of colors and visual splendor that he'd never known existed. It was as though a lens was being breathed into life over his retinas, over his skin, over the exterior of his soul. The echoes of Dean's wings rose behind him, but in response to _his_ wonder, like every spiral of sensation was his own. His brother became a resonant note held in a balanced thrall over his head, and it was as if this was what the world had been all along.

Like Dean was a tuning fork, the ripples of his power shaking loose the fabric of the space around them.

“Whoa,” Sam whispered, taking in as much as he could.

“Did it work?” Charlie asked, and when Sam turned toward her, he was struck breathless, the sight of her soul - a _human soul_ \- nearly tipping him off his feet.

“Y-yeah,” he answered, watching the faint haze of his voice dissipate into the air in front of him. “Yeah, Dean’s got it working, I can see everything.” _Everything,_ he thought in awe.

The seraph’s focus was singular, a direction of intention that Sam could feel as though it were an object in his hands, and so he didn’t try to divert it.

 _Liam, Dean,_ Sam murmured gently, able to feel every slip and crevice of the voice in his head. _Look for the kids._

There was a ripple, a fold in the shape that the seraph’s energies had taken on, and a sense of understanding. It wasn’t words, it was a whole cosmos of subtleties and hazy forms that sidestepped the need for language entirely. It was...simple.

Like a kind of empathic shorthand.

Slowly, the colors in the world began to shift, waves reducing in their brightness as if fading into the background and leaving behind the parts that they needed to follow. _Huh,_ Sam mused. Cas had hit the nail on the head when he said it was like scanning a page of lore for a word.

“I think I see it,” Sam said, squinting slightly as he looked into the trail’s path. Soft strands with a glow, wisps like cotton and light wound together into a new form of matter were fading in contrast to the earthy browns of the ground beneath them. “The echoes of the kid’s soul, they’re...familiar. Dean’s honing in on them. Like you said.”

“Is he alright?” Cas asked.

“He’s...focused. Like he's meditating.” Sam swallowed, a soft burst of _feeling_ hitting his mind at the mention of his brother, and the sound of Cas’s voice. The younger Winchester laughed, once he worked out what it meant. “He loves you,” he said on Dean’s behalf. “I don’t think he wants you to worry.”

Cas smiled, his face taking on a slight blush. “Good,” he replied. “Lead the way, Sam.”

Sam obliged, grace like a layer of mist rising from his skin, and he looked for the wavelengths they needed to follow; he and Dean working together to hone in on the tracks they needed to see.

They walked through the woods in a group, and Sam kept his hair to the sides of his face to prevent any of the rangers they passed from seeing the ring of energy that rose to pulse in his eyes. The signs grew from thin and fleeting to a pull that was stronger, growing in clarity and pushing an extra measure of speed into the hunter’s step. He wasn’t sure if the urge to hurry came from his intuition or from Dean’s, or from this new combination of both, but whichever way, he trusted what it was telling him.

They walked on for an hour or two, and took a short break so as not to push Charlie (or anyone else) beyond their collective limits.

By now they were far enough from the last sighting location and the beginning of the trail that there was alone, and Sam looked on as Cas gazed up into the trees and sun above them, and spread the wide remnants of his wings behind him. He seemed at peace, despite the burnt shells of light that cupped the air where supple feathers had once presented a sense of power.

Sam turned away, but not before the angel in question noticed what he’d been doing.

“Ah,” Cas said. “Of course.” His expression bore little surprise. “You can see them.”

“Yeah, um, ever since when we left the Bunker,” Sam admitted, reaching to self-consciously scratch the back of his neck. “I didn’t get as good a look until now, I promise, but with Dean’s- or I guess _my_ sight kicked up like this, it just-”

“Sam,” the angel interrupted. “It’s alright. You’ve agreed to aid in your brother’s mission to restore me," he said calmly. "It’s only fair that you know what state of ‘damaged goods’ I currently represent.”

The way Dean’s energies flared at this, even in his continued thrall of energy and focus, Sam had to reach up and hold the side of his skull; wincing and shaking his head when Cas stepped forward in concern. “I don’t think...Dean appreciated you calling yourself that,” he said, his tone dropping. “And I don’t agree with it either.”

“Neither do I,” Charlie added in, walking up and wiping the water she’d been drinking from her lips. “We’re all hurt on the inside, Cas," she told him. "That doesn’t make us less than what we are. You’re the person Dean loves, the...cooky, bee-loving member of our family who left their home and put aside thousands of years of brainwashing and prejudice to help Dean save the world. So, I can’t see your scars, but I promise.” She smiled, emotion sitting beneath her eyes, and gave him a buddy-punch in the arm. “Even if I could, that’s not the part of you that matters.”

Sam felt the resonances in mind calm, felt his brother’s warmth on all their behalfs. “Dean agrees, by the way,” he said.

Cas nodded, swallowing a sudden lump of gratitude in his throat. _Thank you._ “We should continue, if you both are ready,” the angel said, his wings drawing close but no longer trying to hide against the color of his trenchcoat. “Dean has been in a state of very deep focus for long, now. I’m sure he’d appreciate a reprieve as soon as we can give him one.”

Charlie nodded, and Sam breathed in, glancing forward down the trail and reaching out for the line of attention that Dean has been maintaining. The hazy waves came in closer to focus, and the echoes he was looking for stood out in more clarity. There was something different about them, like a break in the pattern, but it shifted out of his sight before he could pinpoint it. “I think we’re getting closer,” he said, hoping he was right. “The traces, they’re starting to get clearer. Like it hasn’t been as long since the soul was here.”

“Let’s go, then,” Charlie said, looking up at the sky and seeing that in a few short hours, it was likely to fall dark. “Those kids are waiting on us.”

They walked on for another thirty minutes, making slow progress, but as that time passed, Sam’s eyes slowly began to blur; color spinning at the edges of the forest of trees and forest of wavelengths until he wasn’t sure which was which. There were snatches of feeling, of intention in the air penetrating his mind, but they were too raw for him to comprehend. The steady pulse of Dean’s energies was beginning to flicker, and the younger hunter realized he'd been leading blind; finally stopping in place, holding his head with a wince as he did so.

“Sam, what happened?” Cas asked, fingers positioning themselves as if prepared to draw his angel blade.

“I don’t- I lost the trail.” Sam cursed, and ran his fingers through his hair.

 _Dean,_ he said in his mind. _Dean. You can break the focus. Come back._ Then, after a moment: _Dean, I need you here._

There was a ripple as the seraph understood, and then a wave, like the rush of seafoam melting against a shore to which it was finally able to return. Dean’s consciousness _breathed,_ as though it was coming up for air; escaping from the form of concentration and once more finding life.

 _Sam,_ he said, his tone akin to a gasp. _Sam, did it work?_

“Yeah, Dean. He’s back,” Sam murmured, letting Charlie and Castiel know. The layers of technicolor in his vision faded, undertones and faint imprints still remaining in their wake now that he knew they were there. “Dean, it was working, almost all afternoon, but I lost the trail. Your grace was- I don’t know, there was a layer of strength that was fading, and then I just-” The younger brother cut himself off, feeling for the ebb and flow of energy beneath his skin, and then realizing something. “Dean,” he said, starting again. “Dean, are you okay?”

 _I’m fine,_ Dean answered, but his voice was looser, like the edges were drifting in fatigue. _I don’t know. Just...need a...a recharge, or…_

“Cas,” Sam said, gaze sharpening in worry. “He’s drifting. Tired.”

“I have few doubts that he is,” Castiel murmured. “Holding the same shape for so long, focusing so intently, it’s little short of exhausting.” He reached forward, holding up one hand, but hesitating before placing it over Sam’s chest. “I might be able to help, the way I did when he was asleep in the library. May I?”

Sam nodded. “Do it.”

Cas laid his fingers against the surface of the canvas fabric, and opened up his grace to that of Dean’s; taking a breath and focusing on the energy in the air around them. _Wake up, Dean,_ he thought, casting his voice beneath the boundaries of Sam’s skin. _Wake up._

The forces that Cas drew to him came together and flowed into his hand, like an eddying of silt pressing inward to create a dune. It was like six shots of epinephrine charged with starlight right to the seraph's core, and Sam could feel it skipping over his cells to reach its intended target. Dean burned as though he'd just been hit with an AED, and then he gasped, still within Sam's head.

 _A- a recharge,_ Dean stammered in a rush. _Wow._ The spectral imprint of his wings flared, tugging Sam's shoulder blades along with them.

"Is he alright, Sam?" Cas asked.

"Dean?"

 _I'm gonna need a serious siesta when this thing is over, but…_ Dean’s grace shifted as if he was stretching, and a pulse of energy echoed behind Sam's eyes. _I’m awake for now. You mind asking Cas what he did?_

"He wants to know what you did," Sam relayed. "And honestly, so do I.”

Cas exhaled, drawing back and rubbing his hands together like they were cold. “I used my grace as a conduit, giving him a...I believe an applicable term would be a ‘jumpstart’. Dean is powerful enough that I don’t have the capacity to heal him should he sustain injury, but any sufficiently equipped power source directing external forces into an angel of any rank would be able to prompt them to fight off their fatigue, if they were able.”

“Like making him a shot of espresso,” Charlie said, finding that she understood. “Except instead of caffeine, you used energy.”

Castiel nodded. "It can't be done often, but I believed the situation warranted it enough to try."

“Okay. Thanks, Cas,” Sam said, making a mental note of it. He then cleared his throat, glancing briefly at the area around him. “So, Dean...what’s the play?" he asked. "Do you want to try again, or should we lay off, conserve your strength?” The seraph hesitated to answer, and then Sam continued, softening in understanding of what his brother needed. “Hey,” he said, starting again. “How about we save the grace, alright? I’m not the expert, but before we lost the trail, I caught the general direction, and the tracks seemed recent. We might be able to find them the regular way, looking for signs that people were moving through here, drag marks, snapped branches.”

 _Yeah, uh- alright,_ Dean agreed, the edges of his tone belying his relief in ways that Sam was gladdened to recognize. _Sounds good._

The team walked a half hour more and found that the signs of movement began to increase in frequency, as if the kids’ captors had become more assured in the area’s seclusion and so started to drop their regard for leaving evidence. This continued for a quarter mile, and then finally, in a clearing messily sectioned off from the surrounding forest, there was a twin set of cabins; both worn and near-rotting in their foundations. The air was still, almost unnaturally so, and Sam felt both Dean’s and Castiel’s graces rise as if on high guard.

“Dean and I can take the one on the right,” Sam murmured, keeping his voice low as he drew his gun from the small of his back. “You two check out the other one. Shout if you find anything.”

Cas and Charlie nodded, and the group split, Sam slowly approaching the weathered steps and trying not to tempt the wood into creaking as he stepped on top of it. He felt Dean focus on the sound by his feet and curb the waves before they could rise, and his eyes widened in surprise. _Wow,_ he thought. _Neat trick. Thanks._

 _No problem,_ the seraph replied. _Now get closer to the door. Wait before you go in._

Sam moved and set his hand over the doorknob, but waited, raising his pistol and holding his breath.

 _You’re clear,_ Dean said after a moment. _No one waiting to ambush._

 _Hey, you sure you’re good?_ Sam asked. _Seems like you’re taking it easy. Tighter range._

_We’ll talk about it later. Just go._

The younger hunter nodded, and he twisted the knob, pushing the door open with a soft whine from the brittle hinges. Inside, it was dark, the only light source the waning sun that trickled through the panels of the walls, and Dean hesitantly held some of his grace behind Sam’s eyes in an effort to afford him clearer sight. The room came into focus, and Sam walked inside, leaving the door open behind him. _It’s empty,_ he observed, sweeping over the space. _Are you getting anything?_

Dean was quiet for a moment, evidently thinking. _The corner,_ the seraph said, referring to a portion of the floor walled off by the remnants of an old table. _I think there’s something in that dark patch over there._

Sam moved forward, re-holstering his gun in his belt and then bending down to shift the table aside. He gasped softly when what was beneath it hit his eyes, and something in him sank.

It was the body of a child, maybe twelve years old, chest caved and a wound splitting the side of his neck.

A young boy.

Dead.

“It’s been too long since whatever did this was here, it- we have to do something,” Sam murmured feverishly, in his shock forgoing the silent line of communication in his head. “We- we have to get him out of here, ID him, notify his parents.”

 _He was the kid of the counselor that they found, Sam,_ Dean told him. _No other family. One of the articles Charlie pulled up had his picture._

“Shit.” Sam leaned closer, hesitating to touch the boy’s face. “Then we have to get his body out of here. Burn it.”

_We don’t have time. There’s too much wood around here, and those other kids are waiting on us, Sam._

The two of them were silent, and Sam bit his lip in want of a solution, of anything that meant he didn’t have to leave this place with this child in his thoughts.

 _Wait,_ Dean said after a minute, just as his brother was beginning to pull away. _Sam._

 _What?_ Sam responded, this time in his mind.

_Get close again. Not too close, just...put your hand over him. You’re going to have to trust me for a second._

Sam swallowed, and did as asked, steeling his nerves for whatever was about to happen. _What are you going to do?_

_I’m going to burn the body._

The younger Winchester’s breath hitched, but he nodded, closing his eyes. _Okay._

Dean shifted his grace forward, until he was almost side-by-side with his brother’s consciousness, and then together, they breathed, drawing on the power humming in the space between them. The valley between their fingers struck like a match against the aether, and a wick of grace went alight, spreading in the form of white-tipped flames that hit the boy’s body and carefully took it for its own.

Sam felt every measure of the flame’s heat, and after the moment passed and Dean’s power receded to the back of his mind, he stood, watching the curled-up human form dissolve into powder, and then to nothing.

Like a cleansing, Sam thought to himself grimly, imagining this relative to a smiting. Giving the soul tied to the body a restful passage.

He might've remembered Lucifer and the smell of spectral ash dusting his skin, but if he did, it was only for a moment.

He made to turn around and check in on Cas and Charlie, but then suddenly he stilled, feeling something in the air behind him. _Dean._

But before the seraph could respond, there was an angel blade pressing against the side of Sam’s neck; and dark hair visible in the corner of his eyes.

Belonging to none other, than Eileen Leahy.

“What have you done to Sam Winchester?” she demanded.

And for a moment that lasted too long, Sam didn’t know how to answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gasp; IT WAS EILEEN! ALL REJOICE- But should we be worried about the way we left things?  
> (I'm evil, I'm sorry. I know that came almost out of nowhere).
> 
> Teasers for next time:  
> Eileen tries to get the truth out of the being to whose neck she's holding her weapon, but will Sam be able to convince her of it peacefully? And then, what about the kids? Where are they, and what happened to throw Sam and Dean off the trail?
> 
> I can't _wait_ to see what you guys thought of all the angel things, and what you think might happen next. I'll see you in the comments, and I'll see you next time, lovelies! <3  
> It makes me the happiest person every time I get to see what you all thought after reading.


	39. Never Have I Ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heyy, everyone! Hope you've been having an awesome day, however far into it you might be! Boy, did I somehow forget how much self indulgence worked its way into today's chapter. Right now I'm lagging just a touch behind in the number of chapters I typically stay ahead of this fic with, just because of this one _monster_ chapter that emerged in the road ahead, but I promise, all good things. No regrets on my part.
> 
> The music to go with this chapter, which a few of my friends just helped me assemble since I forgot to put things down in advance, is The Kids Aren’t Alright by Fall Out Boy, Body Talks by The Struts ft. Kesha, 9 To 5 by Dolly Parton, and a bonus track of Boys Will Be Boys by Dua Lipa.
> 
> I'm going to stop my typical rambling here, since right now those same friends are waiting on this and I don't want to keep them (or you) in suspense any longer. I hope you enjoy! I'll see you at the end notes ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my _god._ I completely forgot about this until after I hit post.
> 
> With this chapter, this story has just exceeded one hundred thousand words.
> 
> I wanted to give a whole speech in the notes when this happened, if this happened, but I suppose I'll just have to say that...I am so, so amazed that I've made it here, and so, so grateful, to those of you who've made it here with me. Thank you for reading, and thank you for being here. If you want to celebrate with me in the comments, please do. It'd make my day times a million.

Eileen pressed the blade further against Sam’s neck, gesturing for him to turn around.

“You try something, it’s lights out,” she warned. “Now answer the question. Who are you.”

“Eileen,” Sam said, lifting his hands in a gesture of peace and tilting his head as much as he could while he turned so that she could see his lips. “Eileen, it’s Sam. Put the angel blade down.” He tried to sign along with his words, despite how his memory was rusty after the whirlwind that had been the past month (during which he hadn’t gotten the chance to speak to her).

“I won’t ask again,” she growled. Sam was now facing her, and her eyes were all business, her emotions not showing in her expression. But the Winchester could feel them anyway, given the empathic lifeblood circling beneath his skin and how close she was standing. Eileen was angry at whatever entity had taken the kids, the entity that seemed to have taken _Sam._ She was worried about him. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she would if she had to.

“I’m telling you the truth, Eileen,” Sam said slowly. He stopped his attempts to sign, since that clearly wasn’t working with his hands over his head. “There’s an angel in here, yes, I said yes to an angel to get their help. But I’m the one in control.”

“Why should I believe you?” Eileen demanded, still holding her weapon to Sam’s throat. Sam was doing a remarkable job of keeping his cool, but there was a tremble in his skin, Dean’s grace responding to the intrinsic threat of the heavenly blade’s material. _Hang in there, Dean,_ Sam thought. _Nothing’s going to happen._

“You can believe me, because the angel I said yes to is my brother.”

Eileen stilled for a moment, contemplating what that meant. “Either explain that, or try again,” she told him, not dropping her grip.

“Dean’s an angel. It turns out that he always was one, but he developed his grace a month ago,” Sam told her. “I can prove it. Cas, and Charlie, they’re right next door, in that second cabin. If you won’t take my word for it, ask them.” _Dean, signal Cas,_ Sam thought. _Get him in here._

_On it._

Eileen hesitated, but then opened her mouth. “You just burned that body,” she said. “Explain why. Explain why you’re here.”

“We caught wind of this case back at the Bunker, the missing kids,” the other hunter began. “Dean and I, we thought we could find them using Dean’s powers. We drove out here, we talked to one of the moms, uh, Ms. Kim down on Elm Street, and then we drove out to the choke point the rangers set up and started following the trail of her son’s soul through the forest. We ended up here, and we found...we found the body of one of the other kids.” Sam swallowed. “His guardian was the counselor that got killed. He didn’t have any other family. There wasn’t anyone to return the body to, and we just wanted to let him rest in peace.”

The blade-wielder in this situation seemed to falter, ever so slightly. “...if you’re really Sam Winchester,” she asked carefully after a moment, “then what was the last thing you said to me the last time we video called?”

A possessing entity could read minds, so they'd know the answer. But no demon or angel could ever replicate the signature Winchester fluster.

“I, uh,” Sam began, caught by surprise, face flushing slightly to be admitting this where his brother could hear it. “I referenced A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and told you...‘It’s gotten late. I must go seek the dewdrops elsewhere.’”

Dean had been keeping quiet, letting his brother handle things, but at this he couldn’t help but stir in surprise and anticipation. _Shakespeare, Sammy?_ he remarked. _Wow. Classy._

“Shut up, Dean,” the younger Winchester muttered, then looked back at Eileen and winced. “Sorry.”

Eileen opened her mouth to comment, when Cas and Charlie finally appeared at the open door, going stiff when they saw the angel blade at Sam’s throat and the woman who was holding it.

“Eileen,” Cas said, surprised to see her there. His position went defensive, ready to strike if provoked. The way Dean had sent for him, it hadn’t seemed as though he was in danger. “Is everything alright?”

The hunter looked between Castiel and Sam’s face, and at last, slowly lowered her blade.

“Yes, we're fine,” she said, sounding apologetic. “Sorry. No hard feelings?”

Sam laughed, in relief just as much as humor. “Don’t worry.” He smiled. “No hard feelings.”

“Hey, uh, I’m Charlie,” the red-haired hunter said, stepping forward and holding out her hand to shake. “I think we met once at the Bunker, right before that one werewolf case in Houston? And Sam’s mentioned you loads.”

 _Dude,_ Dean scoffed to his brother. _You’ve been talking to Charlie about your thing with Eileen, but not_ me? _I’m hurt._

 _Shut up,_ Sam responded in his head, trying not to let his face flush any further than it already had. _There’s no ‘thing’. We’re just friends, I haven’t even had the chance to talk to her since before you angeled up._

Dean somehow managed to smirk, despite the fact that he currently had no mouth to call his own. _Sure, buddy,_ he said jovially. _Whatever you say._

“Are you here for the same case as us?” Castiel asked, and drew the brothers back into the main conversation. “The missing children?”

“Yeah,” Eileen answered, tucking her angel blade away and beginning to sign as she spoke. “I drove in this morning and started looking in the forest. I talked to the parents of a different kid, and they showed me their texts to give me the last confirmed location, so I headed out in this direction- but then I saw something and found Sam. It looked like he was possessed.” She looked up at him. “I got worried.”

“To be fair,” he said, smiling. “You weren’t wrong.”

“Hey,” Charlie put in, “since you’re here- why don’t we work together on this one? You’ve got information, and we’ve got a tall glass of angel juice in a Sam-sized package. Sounds like a winning combination to me.”

Eileen glanced at Sam, and when she found encouragement in his gaze, she nodded, agreeing to enter the fold. “I booked a motel room a few miles out,” she told them. “It’s getting too dark to search out here, so maybe we could head back there?”

“That works,” Sam nodded. He then huffed a laugh. “I’m pretty sure only half of us really need to sleep right now, so maybe we’ll break on something tonight.”

-:-:-:-

They trekked through the forest, trying to move fast in the knowledge that these kids, wherever they were, had already suffered for long enough. They avoided the rangers just in case, Dean sounding angelic warning bells whenever any member of law enforcement (the only other humans in the area) were getting too close, and Sam showed Eileen and Charlie the trick where Dean rendered his movements soundless; setting his hand on Eileen’s shoulder to see if the effect’s range could extend to her as well.

 _Hey,_ Dean said, subtly poking Sam’s mind when they were about five minutes out from where they’d parked their cars. _If I’m showing off angel tricks to make you look cool for your lady...does that make me your_ wingman?

Sam choked, his fingers nearly slipping as he avoided tipping over midstep.

“Are you okay?” Eileen asked, looking up at him. She reached out to his hovering forearm, steadying it in her firm grip.

“You know, I already spend pretty much every waking moment with my brother,” Sam told her, reassembling his composure, “but now that he’s in my head, it’s like I can’t escape what an _idiot_ he is.”

Eileen gave him a knowing, sympathetic look. “It’s the puns, isn’t it.”

 _“Yes.”_ Sam gave her the look of a man out at sea who’d at last caught sight of a life raft headed for shore. “Someone who understands.” Something came to mind, and he grinned softly, hoping his cheeks hadn’t gone pink. “And now I know why the cupids were painted blind,” he told her.

She gave a soft scoff, and playfully pushed his arm back to him, letting her hair sway as she tipped her face back ahead.

Dean sniggered, and Sam didn’t resist the urge to turn his efforts toward retaliation.

“Seriously, I don’t know how Cas puts up with him," he said. The younger Winchester then made a face of slight realization. “Oh, _oh,_ I never got to tell you,” he said, his eyes bright.

She saw the look on his face and met it with intrigue, raising an eyebrow inquisitively. 

“Cas and Dean, they finally got it together. And I mean the whole deal. Open coupling, uh, feeding one another strawberries in the kitchen-”

 _Sam, I swear to god, I’m gonna take the wheel and kick your ass with your own foot,_ Dean threatened, making Sam begin to devolve into laughter that he could barely restrain.

“Grooming one another’s wings-” the little brother continued, laughing even harder as the seraph’s panicked insistence began to ricochet through his head.

“Dean has wings?” Eileen asked. “Wow.” She smirked. “Now he really is a mother hen.”

_**Sam-** _

“Okay, okay,” Sam said, holding his hands up in surrender. “We’ll stop, Dean. We’ll stop.” He grinned. “Ask Charlie later, Eileen,” he mock-whispered. “She’s got photos of that strawberry thing.”

The four (five, counting one disgruntled seraph) of them finally reached their cars, and then pulled out, the Impala following Eileen as she drove to the motel they’d now be staying at. Dean sniped at his brother the entire time, but there was no sympathy to be found, aside from the subtle thrum of Cas’s grace brushing the edges of his awareness.

 _God,_ the seraph thought. He couldn’t wait until he had a fist of his own to clock Sam in the mouth with.

They filed in, and Eileen picked up an extra copy of the key and handed it off to Sam before signing a thank you at the desk manager. There were two beds, since serendipitously that had been the only room size available, and Charlie claimed the empty one for herself as Eileen briefly looked through things she’d left on the other.

“Wow, this is a lot,” Sam said, commenting on the research that was assembled on the small desk to the far wall.

Eileen walked over to his right, reading his lips in the low motel lighting. “Most of it’s the same,” she told him. “A group of sixteen kids went on a trip, and yesterday morning they were declared missing.”

Sam sighed heavily. “And now there’s only fifteen left. Or maybe less." He reached up to rub the side of his forehead. "God, I just wish we could _find_ them,” he said. “Dean and I were so close, but then I lost the trail and Dean got wiped out and scared me and-” Sam stopped, suddenly realizing that his emotions were running high, that he was speaking in a quickening rush. He took a deep breath, reminding himself that it was just the grace, making everything in his mind _more._

 _Hey,_ Dean told him, while Eileen silently rested her hand over Sam’s elbow in a gesture of solidarity. _I’m okay. Honest. And losing the trail, that wasn’t your fault, man. I couldn’t...I couldn’t do it for that long. It was a stupid plan, and I burned myself out because I didn’t realize how hard it was going to be. That’s not on you._

“Dean says he burned himself out,” Sam murmured, giving the hunter by his side context as he listened. “Not my fault we lost it.”

“You managed to find one place where the kids were,” Eileen told him, told the _both_ of them. “That’s something. And thanks to you, we have a direction. We can work with that.”

Cas and Charlie walked over, having unpacked whatever they needed and stashed whatever they didn’t, and Eileen shifted away from Sam’s side, taking lead of the group’s attention.

“We know that the group took this path through the forest,” she began, tracing a red line that ran over a detailed map of the area. “And this is where we all found those cabins, and the markers leading to them. But I think those snapped branches and footprints were meant to throw us off.”

“What makes you say that?” Cas asked.

“Think about it,” Eileen told him. “There was nothing, all through the rest of the forest. One trail out of nowhere, with a body at the end? It’s like they were trying to keep us busy.”

Sam frowned, thinking for a moment. “I...think you’re right,” he realized.

Eileen raised an eyebrow, but in invitation to explain.

“Dean, he’s an empath," Sam told her. "He can sense emotions and see into the spectral realm, uh, wavelengths, and things relating to the soul. He was letting me do it too, before he couldn’t anymore, and while I could still see them, the tracks changed in that area. The intention behind them...it felt different, even though the drag marks seemed like they were made by the same thing.” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck. "Except by the time we found them, Dean's focus was wearing thin, which means he can’t back me up on this. So I don’t know for sure how much was real."

"Okay, well, what does that mean for where the kids are?" Charlie asked. "It looks like we have two options on where to look: the path that goes on from those cabins, which apparently may or may not be a trap, or the other side of these woods," she said, pointing to the part of the trees on the left away from the trail, where rangers had yet to begin looking. "Which might be a shot in the dark."

Sam blew out a breath. "I think..." he said. "I think we should take the other side. A group that's been evading hunters for so long is smart. They've probably been planning a move like this for a while now, if it's the first one this area's ever seen. Those tracks were obvious. And as horrible as it is, I wouldn't put it past a nest of vampires to drain a kid just for a decoy if they needed one."

"I agree with you, Sam," Cas said. "Dean, do you have any input?"

_I'm with you._

"He says he's with us," Sam relayed.

"So...three hours to crash for us humans," Charlie said, glancing over at Eileen, "and then we head out? Into The Woods, take two?"

Sam nodded. "Sounds good.

"We roll out before dawn."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teasers for next time:  
> If parts of this chapter seemed self indulgent, well...the next chapter is self indulgence in its _entirety._  
>  We see the night in the motel, and coverage of three key conversations- our favorite flannel-wearing brothers, a certain pair of angelic lovebirds, and then Charlie talking to a familiar face over the phone. Emotions, fluff, heart-tugging and then more fluff.  
> To quote myself out of the notes in the bottom of the doc, I described this next chapter as: "-Bonus self indulgent dialogue because this is what happens when you’re a Serious Writer"  
> Heh. I think yall are going to like it.
> 
> I would also so, so love to see what you guys thought of today's chapter. Was there too much crack? Just enough? And, do you guys think Eileen is starting off in-character? I'm still watching through the show and thus haven't seen season fifteen yet, which means I'm mostly relying on my memory from seasons eleven and twelve and rewatching a clip of her in 12x17 when I feel like I need reference, but hopefully I'm doing her justice. God, she's an amazing character.
> 
> My rambling aside, thank you so much for reading! I'll see you at the next one, and if you have thoughts (or if you want to join me on the 100k celebration train), then I can't wait to see you in the comments <3


End file.
